Broken
by MortonGirl
Summary: The biggest obstacle between Rogue and Gambit has little to do with touch.
1. Nocturne

Title: Broken

Chapter 1:Nocturne

The light from the streetlamps, cold and gray, filtered through the window, casting grainy shadows on the girl. She thrashed about, even in sleep, the soft white sheet tangling about her legs like a percale serpent. The face of the small silver alarm clock showed 2:16 AM. There was no noise save for the whimpers and half-cries of the girl on the bed and the occasional passing of a car. 

Dreams. They came more and more frequently now. Never her own, but of those she had touched, absorbed, taken into her more intimately than a lover. It seemed there was no room for her own; they had been crowded out by the cacophony of voices in her head. And as if the universe were playing some exquisitely cruel trick on her, it was usually the nightmares that surfaced first. Unimaginable pain. Searing loss. Crushing grief. Paralyzing fear. 

"It appears that the most vivid memories – those strongest in the minds of those you've absorbed – will appear first, and most frequently. As you integrate them into your own psyche, you should experience them less often." Cold comfort at two in the morning when you wake up terrified and alone.

In this dream, her bones were taken, every piece drawn out and replaced with icy metal. The pain was excruciating. It would never stop. She could see herself, crying tears of blood. She could taste them, salt and iron on the tip of her tongue. They left sticky tracks down her cheeks. The pain filled her up, bored into her, crushed her. She trembled violently. She would never be warm again. 

She woke, screaming, to a strange room, a strange bed, and a stranger standing next to her. Then, a gentle brush across her brow. "Lie back, _chere_," drawled a low, soft voice. "S'okay. Go back t'sleep."

Weak, shaken, she slid into sleep once more. The gloved hand brushed a tangled curl away from her face, soft, soft. "Dream well,_ p'tite_. Dream well." The heavy down comforter was gently smoothed and tucked around her. And the tall, slim figure, eyes glowing like banked embers, slid silently from the room. 

She dreamt again, this time of a cool green room and the quiet rustle of the wind over water.


	2. Easy On The Eyes

When she woke a second time, she was alone and the sky was turning light. Slowly, she pushed herself to a sitting position, then swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Bad idea, she thought, as the room turned on its side and pain lanced through her. She sank back to the bed and took stock. She was half-naked – her tank top and underwear were all she had on. Where were her clothes? Where were her gloves? The absence of her gloves – her armor – made her feel more naked than the loss of her clothes, and she tucked her knees to her chest, pulling the sheet over her. Her body felt as if she had failed one of Logan's Danger Room sims miserably. 

Logan. The Institute. How long had she been missing? If anyone even noticed, would they think something was wrong? Or that she had taken off, too traumatized by the events of the past few months to stay with the X-Men? She buried her face in her hands, then winced. Exploring with tentative fingers, she found a gash along her hairline, but it seemed clean and held together with butterfly bandages. Who had patched her up? Everything about the night before was fuzzy – the harder she tried to picture it, the further it slid out of focus. 

She had hitchhiked into the city, heading for a club she knew of. It was loud and obnoxious and fake, but they didn't check ID, and she figured the blaring music and mindless chatter would be a welcome distraction from the noise in her head. And she could be anonymous. Rogue definitely wanted to be anonymous. But something hadn't felt right, had made the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably. As she walked to the club, storm clouds gathering above, she realized someone had been following her, and so she ducked inside, choosing a table at the back, near the fire exit, and watched the door. Logan might not think she was paying attention during training, but she had listened – in any situation, give yourself as many options, as many exits, as much flexibility as you could. "Control the situation," he always said. "Don't let it control you." When the waitress had come to take her order, she had ordered a club soda. 

So why was she feeling like she did the morning after she and Evan had snuck into Logan's room and shared a bottle of whiskey?

She had watched the entrance to the club, techno music blaring, lights flashing, swarms of people periodically cutting off her view. Took a sip of her drink, idly tapping her fingers in time to the pulse of the music. Waited. And then the lights blurred together, the music wavered, and…

Nothing. She couldn't remember. "Think, dammit," she whispered to herself. "Rewind and play again. Slow motion." 

Music…lights…people…drink…and then someone sat down. Three unfriendly-looking someones. The one in the middle was smaller, but clearly meaner. The other two were obviously brawn, not brain, and probably slow, to boot. She slid her glove off.

"Don't bother," the middle one said, "I know about the gloves, little girl. I also know you've got about two minutes before you pass out completely. So you can come with us easy, or you can come with us hard. I get paid either way."

"Well, then," she replied, her voice already echoing. "Ah guess ah choose hard." And she brought both legs up, kicking the glass-topped table directly at the men. She jumped back towards the fire exit, but she was too slow – one of them caught her across the chest with something – what? – and white pain exploded behind her eyes. Her balance was off, she thought dully, and as she tried to throw a punch at the muscle man nearest her, she missed. The brawny man backhanded her, and she flew across the room and landed in a heap at someone's feet. 

"Not sure anything about de _femme_ be easy," drawled a voice above her head. She looked up, saw red eyes smoking in a face of planes and angles. "Well, easy on de eyes, _hein_?"

"You gotta be kidding me," she slurred, and the world went black.

Lost in concentration, she didn't hear the door open, didn't look up until she heard a low, husky chuckle. "You look good in my bed, _chere_. Not surprised, 'course. Just wish the process of getting' you there had been less painful."

"You," she breathed, stunned for a moment. Then her natural instincts kicked in, and she was engulfed in fury. "What did you do to me? Tell me what happened, or Ah'll beat it outta you!" She tried to leap at him, modesty forgotten, but the tall, rangy man simply deflected her with a gentle push, and she fell back, defeated.

"Take it easy, _chere_. _Gambit _done nothing but help."

"Help, mah ass! Help who? Tell me what you did, swamp rat, or Ah'll drain drain ya, swear to God!" She struggled to her knees, ready to launch at him again. 

The slow, insolent rake of those red eyes across her body reminded her of how little she was wearing, and she hesitated, then pulled the sheet up around her chest. But her eyes blazed, and Gambit backed up a step. 

"I told you t' take it easy. _Mon dieu!_ How about the Rogue try listenin' for a change. Den I be telling you all dat happened." Her bare hand made a quick, involuntary move towards him, and he was doubly glad he had remembered to put on the gloves. "Relax," he said in exasperation. "I ain't gonna hurt you. Who you t'ink been takin' care of you so nice? Who rescued you from dose men las'night?" He looked at her appraisingly. Long dark hair tangled from sleep, falling in her face. That face, so white, so shocked, with dark purple smudges under each eye – this time, not from makeup, but exhaustion and fear. And the eyes, sparking green. Fear and anger and confusion. The gash on her head was looking only slightly better, as were the various bruises and cuts scattered over her body like some sort of mad pattern. She sat stiffly, her bruised ribs obviously paining her.

"Ah'm waiting," she said impatiently.

"An' I'm lookin'" he said, a quick cocky grin flashing across his face. "It's a nice view."

"Right. Ah'm warning you, Gambit – if Ah don't start hearing some answers soon…"

"I told you, _chere_, if you jus' calm down, I can give you all de answers you want."

"Ah am calm," Rogue said, teeth gritted.

"Well, den," he said, pouring a deck of cards back and forth between his hands, "ask away."

"First of all, where are mah clothes?"

"You not gonna like de answer."

"Gambit," she said warningly, hefting a small, heavy silver alarm clock in her hand.

"Dey gone."

"Gone?" Her arm drew back, ready to throw. "How did they get gone?"

"Well, dere was dis fight, see. And you came out of it okay, but de clothes…"


	3. Protection

He had seen the girl leave the institute, clearly hurting. Remy could never resist a damsel in distress. Even if this one didn't look kindly on rescuing, something about her pulled at him. He had seen the aftermath of her final confrontation with Mystique. Betrayal by a parent – not so unusual. Smashing that parent to bits – a little more unexpected. Not that Remy blamed her one bit. But when he saw her stick out her thumb once she reached the highway, he knew it was time to step in. Hurtin', feelin' guilty, feelin' shame – those were all things Remy understood well. And he understood from the slump of her shoulders and the hang of her head that she wanted to be alone. But doin' something so stupid it was dangerous – powers or no powers – was another story. Besides, she wouldn't see him unless he wanted her to. So he trailed behind her on his bike, making sure he stayed a few car lengths back.

The sky was darkening when the final car dropped her off in a neighborhood known for its willingness to let the slimy underbelly of society roam about in broad daylight. Now, though, clouds were massing and there was a mean flavor to the night air. He kept out of sight, but he could tell as she reached the club that she had sensed someone following her. Her head came up, her steps quickened, she glanced around more. But Remy was a poor thief if he was going to be spotted by a mere girl. Of course, Rogue wasn't just a mere girl. A uniquely powerful mutant, though according to Magneto, she had barely scratched the surface of those powers. And uniquely beautiful, though she tried hard not to let it show. 

And he was a _damn_ poor thief if he hadn't noticed that there was a group of thugs who had been following her less subtly than him. 

"Good t'ing I decide to keep an eye on you, _chere_," he muttered as the men entered the club.

He skirted the club quickly, checking the exit and the most effective paths away from the building, the hardest to follow. Then he pulled a deck out and shuffled it, waiting to charge the cards until he had a better understanding of the situation. 

As he walked in, he saw the waitress take a wad of bills from the smallest of the black-clad men, then deliberately turn her head away as he dumped some sort of clear liquid into what must be Rogue's drink. The man swirled it gently and smiled coldly at the waitress. Remy's eyes blazed. The sort of man who would drug a woman's drink was the sort of man he had no qualms about dispatching. But these men obviously knew who they were dealing with, he saw, as the three of them tugged their gloves up and sleeves down. They weren't going to touch the _fille_, he realized. So what did they want? 

"Alive," the leader mouthed. And Remy realized they wanted to capture her.

He circled around a half-wall of glass block, making sure he had a clear view of the girl, the thugs, the exit, and he began to charge the cards.

Rogue was watching the entrance warily, he saw. "Good girl," he murmured. "Smart _fille_." And then he saw her take a long, speculative drink, and he shook his head. "Prob'ly should'a stopped dat."

The men sat down, and Remy moved closer. He could see Rogue's pupils dilating, the black nearly swallowing up the green, though he couldn't tell if it was from the drug or the anticipation of the fight to come. He watched her tense, and with instincts born of a lifetime in the Guild, he moved out of the way. "…come with us easy or come with us hard…" he overheard the guy say, and a moment later saw the table fly into the chests of the men. Before he could reach her, one of the men had skirted the up-ended table and slammed a nearby chair into the girl. He upped the charge on the cards and moved towards her, noted she was slowing as a punch sailed past the jaw of the thug nearest her. Then she was hurtling through the air and landing in a heap at his feet.

"Not sure anything about de _femme_ be easy," he said, smiling down at her. "Well, easy on de eyes, _hein_?"

"You've gotta be kidding me," she said, and then she passed out at his feet just as the leader swung at her with a drink tray. He blocked it and with a quick twist, sent the man staggering back several steps, eyes narrowing as he looked at Remy.

"Now, what all you yah-hoos want wit' dis pretty lil' t'ing?" he asked, gesturing to Rogue's prone form.

"None of your business, freak," came the growl. Remy tossed a card at him and he jumped back as it exploded, arcing red flame across the room. He sent three more in fast succession, gaining enough time to pick Rogue up and move her – well, dump her – closer to the door. 

"But it be bidness?" he inquired, circling with the bo-staff in one hand, the cards in the other. He kept himself between Rogue and the men. A quick jab to the face with the staff, an elbow to the head, and the largest of the three was down. The other one pulled a gun and he and the rat-faced leader advanced slowly on Remy. 

"Just business, man. We need the girl, that's all."

Remy appeared to consider this, stalling. "Who'd want her? She's jus' a kid." The lean little man moved closer to Rogue, the thug with the gun watching him nervously. 

"What's it to you?" Suddenly, sirens wailed, came closer.

"Dane – cops!" shouted the gunman.

"Dane, eh? I'll be rememberin dat." A quick toss of the card, and the thug had dropped his gun, yelping in pain. Remy flicked the weapon out of the way with one end of the staff, and swung the other end at Dane's knees. Instantly felled, he pulled his own gun and pointed it towards Rogue's slumped body. "Try that again and I shoot her."

Remy tskd. "You ain't gonna kill her. You need her alive." He sensed the other thug trying to sneak up next to him – he lashed out with a roundhouse kick to the throat, and the beefy man went down like a redwood.

"Alive, yeah. Unhurt – that's another story." Dane's beady eyed glittered as he staggered to his feet.

"I would not be recommendin' dat p'ticlar course o'action." He stepped in front of Rogue again. "Lest you wind up missing arms and legs and the like." He splayed the glowing cards between his fingers. "De _fille_ be under Gambit's protection now. Walk away, _homme_." 

"No can do." Dane shot a cold look at him. "I got orders to take the girl."

"Have it your way, den," Remy said. He flicked the cards and Dane dove to avoid them. He came up firing, and the glass block wall next to Rogue shattered, showering the girl with shards of glass.

"Not any more, Mister Dane." He selected one card from the fiery deck, tossed the rest at Dane, who disappeared behind the wall of flame. The last card – queen of hearts, of course – he threw at the door. In the time it took for the charge to detonate and blow the door out, he had scooped up the bleeding, unconscious girl in his arms and vanished into the icy rain.

Author's Notes:

Thanks to all of you who have responded to the first two chapters with such kind words and encouragement. This is my first attempt at fanfic, and I've been filing this story with a great deal of trepidation. Your reviews have me excited about continuing!

I've seen a lot of people post notes on their work about things taking place in an alternate universe, etc. Assume for the sake of continuity that this takes place after Impact, but that it's an older Evo than we see on Kids WB – a little messier and (hopefully) more realistic take on teenagers in general.


	4. Go Ahead And Cry

"So mah clothes?" She arched one perfect brow. 

"Well, what wit de explosion and all, dey were a little smoky and singed. And with de glass shatterin' an' all, dey was a little torn up and filled wit glass bits. And wit de rain an' all, dey were all soggy an' cold…I figured it easier to jus' start over. " B'sides, Ah like what you wearin' now."

She pulled the sheet tighter around her body and glared at him.

"Some girls might be sayin' t'anks right about now."

"Ah'm not some girls."

"Non, _chere_, dat you are not." His eyes, red flickering in black, stayed on hers.

"But thanks," she said grudgingly. She studied him. Tall and lean and hard, a shock of reddish-brown hair falling into those eyes. Planes and angles, she thought again – there was nothing soft to the man.

"_De rien._"

They were silent for a moment. "Ah should go." 

"Where to, _chere_?"

"Ho—the Institute." She had been about to say, "Home," but the words caught in her throat.

"Xavier's? I'm t'inkin' dat not a great idea."

"Why not?"

"How you feelin', _chere_?"

"Ah feel fine."

"Really? Stand up."

"So you can ogle me again? Ah don't think so."

"_Chere_, I had plenty of opportunity to ogle when we came in. B'sides, I don't ogle. I appreciate." He grinned. "I appreciate very much."

"You may think you're charmin' me, Gambit. You ain't."

"That's cause Ah ain't tried yet. And you ain't standin."

"Fine." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood for a moment.

"Now let go o'de bed."

She did, and promptly swayed as black started to suffuse her vision. With a smooth, fluid movement, Gambit caught her and deposited her back in the bed. 

"Like I was sayin'. Whatever dey put in your drink, dey gave enough to knock out that friend of yours with the shiny knives in his hands."

"Logan."

"Wolfie."

"His name is Logan." But the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Anyway, you sure not in any shape to leave. B'sides – you ain' interested in findin' out what dose men want wich'ya?"

"Ah am."

"Well, don't t'ink you gonna find out hangin' around Bayville – de bad guys don' seem suburban. Didn' seem like you really wanted to be at Xavier's anyway."

She didn't respond for a minute, just stared out the window. Then, changing the subject, "What were you doin at the club, anyway?"

He smiled. "I felt social."

"Try again. Magneto send you to watch me?"

"I haven't seen Magneto since the fight with ol'Apocalypse. Don' even know if he survived. I'm a free agent now."

"So why you followin' me?" Now her eyes pinned him. Even exhausted, they were sharp and cool, like jade knives.

He shifted, uncomfortable. "Been watchin' you for a while. Seemed like you needed a friend."

"Friends don't spy on each other." She folded her arms over her chest.

"But dey do get each other outta tricky situations."

"They also tell each other the truth. Truth's important t'me. So tell me, or Ah'll crawl outta here."

He stood, idly flipped a card between his fingers. Charge it, bring it down, charge it, bring it down. "You ain't gonna like it."

"Ah usually don't. Tell me anyway."

"I felt sorry for you."

She shot up, furious. "Sorry for me! Why?"

" 'Cause I seen you hurtin'. Remy just want to make it better." He shrugged, began to pace.

Remy, she mused. His real name. "Why?"

"_Dieu,_ _chere_, you like a two-year-old! I jus' do."

"Why?" At his silence, she threw back the sheet. "Ah'm getting up," she warned.

" 'Cause you and I are an awful lot alike. You've taken plenty o'hits dese last few months. An t'find a family an' feel like you still don' belong, t'be betrayed, an' have everything you believe crash down like a damn house o'cards. I understand that." He stopped his pacing at the window, held her eyes. "You blamin' yourself for the end of the world,_ p'tite_, and you don't need to."

He watched in horror as Rogue's eyes filled, shimmered with tears. In two strides he was next to her. "Don' cry, _chere_. Don' cry. You can get all mad an' spit and all o'dat. Just don' cry." He caught the tear on his gloved thumb before it fell. He stretched out along the bed next to her and she leaned her head on his chest. Even through the duster, he could feel how tense her entire body was, as if from sheer force of will she kept from flying into a million pieces. 

"_Chere_?" She was silent, pressing her face into the soft black cloth of his shirt, not even breathing. "Rogue?"

"Yeah." Her voice was so small, so tight, he thought it might break him in two.

He wrapped his arms around her. "Go ahead an' cry."

She wept until, spent, she fell asleep again.

A/N: 

To those kind reviewers who have been asking about Rogue's clothes…what, you never woke up someplace strange wearing only your underwear? Oh. Well. Nevermind, then. Rest assured, Remy only looked – he does have a code of honor – he just doesn't advertise it.

Panther Nesmith: Thanks for the Jello mold, but I'll pass. On the other hand, can I interest you in a lovely bundt cake pan?


	5. Names

She woke some hours later, and he was gone. She sat up, a little stronger, and decided to take the leap of faith required to stand. Wobbly, like a colt on new legs, she managed it, and walked slowly to the bathroom. Like the bedroom, spare and modern, no sign of anyone ever using it. She looked at herself in the mirror and groaned. This was what Gambit – Remy – had been looking at? And still flirted? Ghost-white skin, deep circles under her eyes, a bruise along the cheekbone and a gash on her forehead. Small cuts here and there from the glass he had said rained down on her like diamonds.

She traced her face in the mirror, then turned resolutely towards the shower. Soap, shampoo, a towel all right there. Toothpaste and a toothbrush, still in their packages, in the medicine cabinet. She stripped off the tank top and underwear, dropping them on the floor, stepped into the shower, and tried not to groan too loudly as the hot spray pounded her aching body. Oh, to feel clean! Even after she had washed off, she stayed under the water a long time. She wasn't ever going to feel all the way clean again, she thought. Like Lady Macbeth – the blood just wouldn't wash off – even if Mystique hadn't bled when she pushed her over the cliff edge. She shook her head to clear the images. Mystique, frozen in stony horror, tumbling off the cliff. Kurt, horrified, as he ported after her. And his face when he couldn't catch the statue that had been their mother, and it shattered on the rocks below. Her team's faces. The professor's face. Logan's neutral, silent look, as if he didn't recognize her. He probably didn't. She shook her aching head again, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a dark green towel around her slim form. She slicked her hair back from her face, tucking behind her ears those white locks that always came loose. "Stripes," she whispered, then made her way to the closet. The easy camaraderie with Logan – with all of the team – was gone. Remy was right – even her tank top and underwear were pretty much destroyed. She looked at the clothes in front of her. Some t-shirts. A few pairs of battered jeans, too big for her tiny frame. One lone flannel shirt. She slipped it off the hangar and began to button it.

"No need for dat, _chere_."

She jumped, swore. "Somebody oughta put a bell on you, Cajun."

"Sorry." He didn't look sorry. He didn't feel sorry. "You look better dan you did."

"Yeah, well, hard not to." She finished buttoning the shirt, relieved to see that it came almost to her knees. 

"Hey." He caught her chin in his gloved hand and moved closer to her. She could feel the low pull of her powers, reaching for him. The thrum of his own, charging the air around them. "I'm t'inkin' you look good all the time…just especially now. Good enough to eat." He ran his hand down her back, the lovely curve of her spine. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

"Don't, please." She all but whispered it. "Mah powers…" she trailed off as he moved closer.

"Don' worry, _chere_. I knows all about dose powers – you've used 'em on me b'fore. But you usin' other ones now." He traced her lip with his thumb, followed the line of her jaw to her throat. She moved closer to him without even realizing it. And her eyes flew open as he stepped away, chuckling.

"See, _chere_. Dat what happens when I turn on de charm."

"You were just proving a point?" she asked, still heady. She couldn't tell if it was from the previous night's drugs or his touch.

"Started dat way." Didn't end up that way, he thought ruefully.

Her eyes narrowed. "Nice." She bit the word off, then stalked over to the bed.

"Don' be mad, _chere_. I brought you a present."

Rogue rolled her eyes.

"Non, _chere_, I did. Look." He pointed to the two bags on the dresser.

She went for the smaller bag first, rustled through the tissue paper. "Gloves. Thank you," said, suddenly shy. How had Gambit known that the going barehanded was so unsettling? 

"Your other ones got left behind…I just thought you'd be a little more comfortable this way."

She tugged them on, then crossed to him. "Thank you," she whispered, and touched his cheek lightly. She bowed her head a little and rested it on his chest, breathing in the sharp spicy scent of him.

"Dere's clothes in de big one," he said into her hair. The silken strands brushed against his mouth and he yearned for a taste of her skin. Keep it light, he reminded himself. "Not that you don' look…fine…as is. I can take dese back, if you want," he teased. He couldn't, of course. Once a thief, always a thief. But she looked so utterly feminine in the thin, faded flannel. He smiled, gulped.

She hadn't moved. "Ah'll take the clothes, thanks. Ah just…you just…you surprise me, Remy.'

"Oh, it's Remy now?" He grinned at her

She pulled back a little and regarded him seriously. "Ah think so. Is that okay?"

" S'okay. Do I get your name?" He said it lightly, but she stiffened. He tightened his arms around her, and she relaxed into him again. The warmth of her through their clothing was palpable, and she looked up at him with those dark emerald pools. He thought he could see all the way to the bottom. He slid one hand to the back of her neck, lowered his mouth to hers fractionally.. She opened her mouth as if to speak…

And that's when Logan crashed through the window, claws gleaming.

"Get away from the girl, Gumbo," he snarled.

A/N

Ah, finally! Was there any doubt that it would be Logan who broke up the party? 

And on a stylistic note…I gotta stop with Remy talking in third person quite so much. I just can't take it. Really. It's just too much Fonzie, and Henry Winkler so does not do it for me. A friend of mine pointed out that I'm the author, and I can pretty much do what I damn well please, so…welcome back to the land of first person, for the most part. Besides -- at 3:30 in the morning, I don't have the mental wherewithal to revise verb tenses all over creation.

A couple of people have been mentioned that I should be watching grammar and spelling. I beg of you, people – let me know if you're finding errors. Some of them are intentional stylistic choices (i.e., fragments), and I'm new at the whole accents thing (my boy has lost his southern accent since moving up north, so suggest away in that department, too). But I was an English teacher, and now I'm a freelance writer/editor, with a background in proofreading, so grammar and spelling and the like are kind of a point of honor with me. Seriously – if you've got the time, whip out the red pen. I'm posting these at 2 or 3 in the morning, so I'm a little off my game, but that's no excuse.

AngieX – I can see why you'd have expected the X-Men to have found her four chapters in. Bear in mind that a lot of this is flashback from both Rogue and Remy's points of view; also, Rogue may be waking up and falling back asleep, but it's mostly every few hours. She left the Institute Friday afternoon, and it's maybe noon Saturday, so there hasn't been a lot of time for them to even notice she was gone, much less track her. And I'm sorry I made you want to cry… ;-) 

Ishandahalf – Just seeing your name on the review message always makes me smile. If it's not too much to ask, I'm awfully fond of the shimmery rainbow stars. I think you're right about Rogue – it's the dichotomy of being so self-reliant and so needy at the same time. I just think flawed people are inherently more interesting, which is why this isn't a story about Jean. She's not wretched, or anything. She's just not terribly compelling. But Rogue and Remy are both so damaged (for lack of a better word) that you can't help but wonder if either of them will ever find any kind of grace. As for whether Remy's being honest…I think he is. Whether either of them is actually ready for that degree of honesty is another question entirely.

Thanks to all the reviewers for their insight and encouragement. It very nearly makes up for the fact that I'm averaging four hours of sleep a night. 


	6. Back At The Ranch

"Hey, Scott?" Kitty Pryde nervously twisted one brown lock of hair around her finger.

"Hey, Kitty." He looked at her absently, then glanced back at the latest issue of Newsweek. "The New Mutant Threat" was splashed across the cover, with a warped strand of DNA as the accompanying photo. Not that the "mutant threat" was all that new, but every few weeks, the big news magazines published another round of supposedly unbiased stories detailing exactly why the mutant population posed such a threat to mainstream society. He tossed the magazine into the recycling bin. "What's up?"

"Well…it's…Rogue."

"What now?" There was a hint of exasperation in his voice. Since her final encounter with Mystique, Rogue had been even more distant than usual. In more trouble than usual. And while he ached for her, he also wanted his team running smoothly and back on track. 

"Well…um…I can't find her." The words came out in a rush. "We were supposed to have a practice session in the Danger Room together, but I waited for an hour and she never showed. I mean, she wasn't there when I woke up this morning, either, but I just figured she was, like, avoiding me. She does that a lot lately, y'know. Avoids people."

"I know." Scott sighed. "You think she took off?"

"I guess so. I don't want to be a total tattletale, but I know the Professor wanted us to keep a closer eye on her. Should I not have bothered you?"

"No, you were right to tell me. I'll tell the Professor." He concentrated for a moment. _Professor?_

_Scott, what's wrong?_

_Kitty says Rogue's missing. We thought you'd want to know._

Scott's mind was quiet as the professor cast around the grounds of the mansion, and not finding her there, searched Bayville.

_She is indeed gone. I can't locate her at the Institute or in town. I'm on my way down to Cerebro now, but I'd like you to gather the senior X-men in the conference room._

Sure thing, professor. We'll be there in a minute. Scott turned to Kitty. "Hope you didn't have big plans for today," he said. "Go find Kurt and I'll get Jean. Meet back in the conference room in five minutes." He shook his head and went in search of Jean.

*

*

*

*

*

"So the last time anyone saw her was yesterday before dinner?" The professor turned his cool gaze on the assembled team.

Kitty nodded. "I was working on a paper in the library. I was so tired when I was done that I didn't even stop to see if she was in the room – I just crashed. I'm really sorry."

"It's all right, Kitty. You're not supposed to be guarding Rogue. And I'm guessing she didn't want to be found." The professor looked grim. "Cerebro has been unable to locate her, so she is either deliberately not using her powers, or she's been unable to."

The team was silent as the meaning behind the words sunk in.

Logan appeared a deeper scowl than usual on his face. "She didn't sleep in her bed last night."

"Maybe she's just off somewhere…being alone." Jean suggested. "She hasn't exactly been social lately."

"I tracked her to the highway," said Logan. The scent ends there, so she must have gotten into a car."

"On purpose? Even Rogue's not that reckless, Professor." Kurt looked at the ground. He didn't know how he was feeling about Rogue lately. His adopted sister had killed their mother. How did you forgive that? On the other hand, how did you turn away from the only family you still had? "We should go find her."

"It gets worse, Chuck," Logan growled. "She's being followed.

"By whom?"

"Two somebodies, it smells like. One's a bunch I don't know. The other one is that Cajun who used to work for Magneto." 

"Gambit?" Kitty asked. "He wouldn't hurt Rogue. He wouldn't," she insisted, as Wolverine snorted and Scott rolled his eyes at her naïveté. "He teases her, but he's helped her out a couple of times, like at school – sometimes we get harassed by the normal kids. He's stepped in and scared them off. I think he actually likes her. I mean, like-likes her. Y'know. Like a boyfr…" she trailed off at the murderous looks in Kurt and Logan's eyes.

The professor raised his eyebrows. "Be that as it may, Kitty, I'm still concerned for Rogue's welfare. We don't know what Gambit's intentions are, and it doesn't address the problem of the second group following her. Cerebro did pick up the signature of Gambit's powers last night in New York City." Xavier turned to Logan. "Take the team in the Blackbird. I'll give you the exact coordinates en route."

"You heard the professor," Logan growled. "Get suited up and meet in the hangar in ten minutes." The kids rushed out and he turned back to the professor. "Whadda you really think," he demanded. "Is the kid okay?"

"Rogue was not okay before she left," he replied. "The aftermath of the incident with Mystique, of letting Apocalypse loose…these events have only served to further isolate Rogue from the team. She's in a very precarious emotional state. I've been working with her, but it's been slow going."

"Mystique got what she deserved. The elf is hurting, and that's not nothing, but he's coming around. And nobody blames her for what happened with Apocalypse!"

"She blames herself. Her background and her mutant powers have forced her to maintain a degree of control that is exceedingly unusual in someone her age. To act as impulsively as she did when pushing Mystique off the cliff…to have her powers taken out of her control and used against her friends…and now, to cope with all of the personalities she absorbed while under Mesmero's control…It's taken a great toll on her, Logan. I should have foreseen this. I should have tried to prevent it."

"Now who's blaming themselves? She's a teenager, Chuck. Nobody can guess what they're gonna do. But you didn't answer my question. Do you think Rogue's okay?"

"I honestly don't know."

*

*

*

*

*

Surveying the ruined back of the club, Wolverine sniffed as Jean turned to Scott. "Well, I guess it's pretty clear Gambit was here." 

Scott nodded. "But was Rogue?"

"Yeah." Wolverine snarled. "She was here. So was the other group I smelled back at the institute. Seems like Rogue and the Cajun came out this way. The others didn't."

Nearby, Kurt paced as Kitty laid a consoling hand on his arm. "We'll find her, Kurt. Mr. Logan's already caught her scent."

"There was obviously a fight, Kitty. If Gambit was doing all this damage, why wouldn't Rogue be using her powers, too? Why can't Cerebro find her?" The boy shook his fuzzy head, tail whipping back and forth in agitation. "Something's wrong. I can tell."

"So can I," said Wolverine grimly. "I smell blood. Rogue's blood."

Kurt's yellow eyes went wide. "Please…Wolverine…find my sister."

"I'm on it, elf. Let's go."

The trail to the apartment wasn't hard to follow. Within minutes, the Blackbird was hovering above a brownstone in a well-kept neighborhood. 

"This totally does not seem like Magneto's kind of place," Kitty said. "Seriously. This is like…way too low key for a super-villain."  
The team stood ranged in a half-circle. "Here's the plan." Eyes flinty behind his mask, Wolverine stood. "Jeannie, you stay here and keep an eye on things. Can you sense her?"

Jean concentrated. "She's on the north side of the building, top floor. She's been hurt, but she's okay. She's…afraid, I think. I'm sorry. I can't get more than that – her mental shields have really come along since she's been working with the professor."

"Be ready to yank us all out of there. We might outnumber Gambit right now, but if the rest of the Acolytes are around, then we get Rogue and go. Cyclops, you and Shadowcat here head in the front – phase through and short out any security systems you run across."

"Gotcha," said Scott, and he and Kitty phased through the floor of the Blackbird to the roof below.

"What about me?" Kurt asked.

Wolverine looked at him speculatively. "Nightcrawler, you port in – after I've gone first. Once we get in there, you follow my lead. If she looks like she's in any danger, you port her to the Blackbird right away."

"How are you getting in?" Jean asked.

He smiled coldly. "Lower me outside the window."

A/N

Clever rabbits will notice that I've gone back to the previous chapters and mostly eliminated the Gambit in third person thing. I'm not sure if that's considered cheating or not -- and I'm so damn happy to have Gambit not speaking like a musclehead that I don't much care.

Snow queen 2 and Lid'l Rogue -- Thanks. It's not often I'm called both comic and evil, but I live to serve.

Panther Nesmith -- thanks for soothing my conscience over the whole third person thing. It seemed like all the cool kids were doing it, but it's just not me. It's been an awfully long time since I saw the original X-Men cartoon (were there dinosaurs? I seem to remember dinosaurs), and to my chagrin, I've missed many of the Evo episodes that feature Gambit. Which raises the question, I suppose, of why I'm so smitten with him. I guess I just have a soft spot for the con artists. And yeah -- that timing thing's a bitch. It always seems to be for these two.

Ishandahalf -- I have to confess that my two-year-old is often referred to as the bunny, and she's a pretty energetic, willful little thing. I can only imagine how tired I'd be if she were, in fact, a bunny on crack. Sigh. Anyway, yep, Rogue softened up pretty quickly -- how very uncharacteristic of her! I think the drugs and her injuries, combined with being in such a foreign situation just left her completely off-guard. The girl's a wreck, right? Remy's the first person who seems to genuinely understand why. How could you not fall for that feeling of, "Yes -- someone gets me!"? On the other hand, I suspect she won't react well to the realization that she let him get that close. And an angsty Rogue is a snarky Rogue. Never fear. You're Canadian? Lucky you. I've been threatening to move up your way since the Election 2000 debacle. Besides, I like the cold. And disembowelment? While I'm sure Logan's quite skilled in that area, and I'm sure Remy's antics will tempt him to try it, it would definitely put a damper on the relationship! 


	7. Misunderstanding

Rogue jumped away from Remy as the window shattered and glass rained down on the bed. "Wolverine, no!"

It was too late. Logan was launching himself at Remy, pinning the duster to the wall with his claws. "I said, get away from the girl."

"I t'ink you be misunderstandin' the situation, _homme_." He struggled to pull his arms out of the duster, but it was fruitless. "And I t'ink you should be letting go o'my coat." 

"Bamf!" and a smell of brimstone, and Kurt was next to her. "Are you okay?" he cried, pulling at her arm. "Did he hurt you?" His eyes widened as he took in her injuries. "What happened?"  
"Let go," Rogue yelled, wrenching her arm away. "Ah'm fine! Wolverine, let him _go!_" She rushed over, tugging at his arms. He merely snarled and slammed Gambit against the wall again as Remy brought both legs up and kicked him in the throat. Logan stumbled back and Remy somersaulted over him, drawing out a deck of cards and charging them fiery red in an instant. 

"I said you should let go o'de coat," he said, fingering the rips in the duster. "Don't appreciate havin' to tell you twice."

"Give me three minutes, bub, and I can put matching holes in you," Wolverine snarled. As the pair circled, Cyclops blasted the bedroom door down and ran in, Kitty at his heels. "Is she okay?" Kitty shouted, then broke off and came skidding to a halt as she took in the situation.

Scott aimed his visor at Gambit just as Rogue jumped in front of him. "Don't!" she cried.

"What in the hell you doin', kid?" Incensed, Wolverine continued to circle. 

She pushed Remy further behind her. "You don't understand!"

"Why don't you explain it all, _chere_, b'fore I have to put yo' little guard dog in his place." Gambit said, not lowering the cards. 

She whirled. "You. Shut up. You ain't helpin' matters." Turning back to the X-Men, she gave them a pleading look. "Just listen, please. You don't understand. He didn't do anything wrong. He was helping me." Shaken, she wobbled slightly, and before Wolverine or Kurt could steady her, Gambit had scooped her up and gently set her on the bed.

"See what you done to de _fille_," he shot over his shoulder at the team, looking straight at Wolverine. "She ain't in any condition to be gettin' upset."

She brushed him aside. "It's not his fault. Just give me a chance to explain."

"So explain," growled Wolverine.

"Yeah, Rogue. Where did you go? You can't just sneak off the grounds whenever you like," Scott started.

"Wait," Kurt interrupted. He crossed the room to his sister, crouched in front of her. "Are you okay? Your head…there's a big cut. Do you need anything?"

She smiled gratefully at him. "Ah'm all right. Ah'm banged up a little, but it's not as bad as it looks."

"Um, Rogue?" piped Kitty, "What are you, like, wearing?"

"My shirt, _chere_. It look nice, non?" He smirked, then sobered as he saw Rogue wince and Wolverine's claws _snick_ in and out again.

"That's enough outta you, Gumbo. Kid, you better start explaining."

She took a deep breath. "Ah came into the city last night."

"How?" Scott demanded. 

"Ah hitchhiked."

"Rogue, what were you thinking? That's like, totally dangerous." Kitty looked at her friend, stunned. This was not the Rogue she was used to. No makeup, clad only in a faded flannel shirt and gloves, hair damp and curling, bruised and battered, blushing furiously. She slid a glance towards Gambit, who didn't take his eyes off of Rogue. No, she mused. There was no way he was responsible for Rogue's injuries. Right now, despite the deck of playing cards still emitting a faint ominous glow, she couldn't imagine him hurting anything.

"Ah wasn't thinking," Rogue said softly. "I just needed to get away for a little while. Be somewhere that didn't remind me of everything." She pulled her knees to her chest, and winced a little, tucking the shirt around her. "I just wanted to blow off some steam."

"And the club?" Wolverine asked. "That's how you and the Cajun here blow off steam?" He wasn't blind to Rogue's outfit, the coziness of her situation with Gambit, or the looks the cocky kid was giving her.

She shook her head. "No. I went in for a drink." She ignored the stern look Scott gave her. "But someone was following me."

"Dere be three someones, actually," Gambit pointed out. Wolverine rolled his eyes.

"Does that count you, Gambit?" Kurt asked.

"Non, _homme_. I was followin' dem followin' her." Not strictly true, he thought. But close enough.

"Anyway," Rogue said pointedly. "They slipped something into mah drink, then approached me. Ah thought at first they didn't know about mah powers, but they did. Ah tried to get away…" she trailed off.

"The _chere_ was fightin' pretty well, but dey knew not to let her touch 'em," Remy finished. "And they gave her enough of de drug that standin' up straight presentd a real challenge pretty quick."

"So where do you come in?" Scott asked.

"Right about de time de _fille_ pass out."

"He fought them off, Scott. Then he brought me here. He…he saved me." She swallowed hard. She hadn't realized it before, not really. Hadn't thought about the what-ifs. Hadn't thought about the danger Remy had put himself in, just to help her out. "Ah'm sorry. Ah didn't mean to make you worry." She picked at the soft blue spread, 

"Why didn't you _call_?" Kurt asked. "We thought something terrible had happened to you. And we were right."

Rogue started to speak, but Remy cut her off. "Ease up, _homme. _De c_here_ jus' woke up. I brought her back here, cleaned her up, tucked her in. She hasn't even eaten breakfast, so maybe y'all would like to lay off a li'l bit. We were jus' discussin' her goin' home when you all broke in." Actually, he thought, they hadn't been talking about her going home. He had been working around to convincing her to stay a little longer. He smiled to himself, remembering the feel of her in his arms – light and warm, smelling of shampoo and something else, something uniquely her. 

_Hey, guys, _Jean called. _Is everything okay? Can I contact the professor?_

Go ahead, Jeannie, thought Wolverine. _Tell the professor we've found her and we're bringing her home now._

Tell him to have Dr. McCoy standing by, Scott added. _Rogue needs to be checked out._

Done, she replied after a moment. _See you in a few minutes._

"Right," Wolverine said aloud. "Let's go, kid." He jerked his thumb towards the blasted bedroom door. 

"Wait – can't Ah get dressed first?"

He scowled, looking at her again. Not that the team uniforms concealed a great deal, but he – no one at the Institute, really – had ever seen this much of Rogue's bare skin. He didn't want to think how much more the Cajun might have seen.

"You've got five minutes. Say your goodbyes to Gumbo now."

She looked at Remy helplessly. Goodbye and thanks hardly seemed sufficient. He smiled broadly. "Don' worry, _chere_. I'll be seein' you again soon. Things in Bayville not so dull with you around."

Scott spoke in a low voice, so as not to be overheard. "Actually, Wolverine, I think maybe Gambit should come with us." He held up a hand to ward off the glare Logan fixed him with. "We need to find out more about these guys that attacked Rogue. If she was drugged and unconscious for most of the encounter, she's not going to be a lot of help. Gambit might be able to tell us more."

"So let's just get it out of him now. I don't want him runnin' loose around the institute." I don't want him runnin' loose around Rogue, he thought.

"I think we need to get Rogue back now." He looked worriedly at the girl, who was looking paler and weaker every minute. And I'm sure the professor will want to talk to Gambit himself."

As much as he hated to admit it, Logan knew Scott was right. "Fine. Gumbo comes with. But the minute Xavier's done with him, I escort him out. _Personally._" 

Scott approached Gambit cautiously. "Seriously, man, thanks for looking out for Rogue."

"_Pas de problem_. Not a chore to look at dat girl, _hein_?"

"Look…we really need you to come back to the Institute with us. If we're going to find these guys, figure out what they want, we could use your help. You saw things and heard things Rogue didn't. I don't want them to have another shot at her."

Gambit watched Rogue. Kitty and Kurt were flanking her, talking softly. Rogue shook her head at something Kurt said, and her eyes met his. Her mouth quirked in an odd half-smile and she tucked a lock of white hair behind her ear. Being under the same roof as Rogue, even temporarily, held an undeniable appeal. So did the thought of taunting Wolverine. He stretched lazily, pulled out a cigarette. "I could come for a visit, sure. Least y'all could do, considering you pretty much demolished this place."

"Is it yours?"

"Sorta. It belongs to…my family." Close enough. A safehouse, in New Orleans or New York, was open to any member of the Guild, particularly the Prince of Thieves. He walked to the closet and grabbed a duffel bag, throwing in a few changes of clothes. He turned to Rogue. "See you on de plane, _chere_," he said, touching her cheek with a gloved hand. All three of the men narrowed their eyes at him, and there were ominous rumblings from Wolverine and Nightcrawler. 

"C'mon…Mr. Gambit," said Kitty, jumping up. I'll take you up to the Blackbird."

He turned his most charming smile on her. "Thank you, _chere._ Couldn' ask for a nicer guide. Lead on." And holding out his arm for Kitty to take, he strode out of the room.

Wolverine watched him go. "We're not done talking, kid."

Her shoulders slumped. "Ah know."

"Let's go, guys," said Kurt. He turned back to Rogue. "Don't take too long, okay?"

"I won't," she promised.

A/N

To all -- Sorry for the tardy update. The two-year-old and her sister have both been trailing Toad-like slime from their noses, and life consequently grinds to a halt.

Lid'l Rogue -- You don't really want to kill Cliffy, do you? He's just looking for a little attention.

Ish -- I'll take "evil" as a compliment. After all, I've been working towards it for such a long time, it's comforting to know I've made some progress. The back-and-forth is pretty much done for now. Consider it my tribute to the late, great, pre-John Wells "West Wing." Good luck with the chem.

AthenaAlpha, One23Mad, WeebleWobble, SnowQueen2, Flamekiller, Destiny Phoenix, -- Thanks for the kind words. It's nice to know I'm not just sending out random bits of binary code into the universe.


	8. Heading Home

Logan thundered onto the plane. Jean and Kitty were sitting and speaking with Remy, obviously already charmed. He strode up to the group, scowling. "I don't trust you, bub."

Remy shrugged. "Don' need yo' trust," he said blandly, leaning back and propping his boots on the seat opposite him. Logan turned on his heel and stalked to the front controls.

"So, like, what happened to all of the Acolytes?" Kitty asked, chin propped in her hands, eyes wide.

"Oh, dey here and dere. Colossus took off for Russia, lookin' for his sister. Pyro still hangin' around, but we don' exactly socialize. Quicksilver's back wit' de Brotherhood, on account of Apocalypse squashin' his daddy.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but why are you still in Bayville if Magneto's gone? Doesn't that leave you at loose ends?" Jean regarded him curiously. Despite the fact that she recognized his charm was really a form of telepathy, she couldn't help but be fascinated.

"I'm good wit loose ends," he drawled. "B'sides. That was…contract work…wit ol' Mags. Once it was over, I went back to bein' a free agent. Never really into de whole mutant superiority thing, to tell de truth. But Magneto paid pretty well, and things certainly not boring workin' for him." He flashed another dangerous smile. "I get in trouble when I'm bored.

"So why stay around now that the contract is over?" Kurt asked from the front seat.

He smiled and straightened as Rogue boarded the jet. "Found somet'in' to keep life interestin'," he murmured.

She was clad in the jeans and black sweater Remy had picked up. The sweater was long-sleeved, nearly to her fingertips, with a wide neck that showed the sharp, fine line of her collarbone. Both the sweater and jeans skimmed her body – not too tight, but snug enough to hint at the lines and curves of her graceful form. She sat, subdued, in the seat across from him.

"It's perfect," she said self-consciously, touching the cashmere. Remy's fingers itched to do the same, to find out if the skin under the silky material was equally soft.

"It's you," he replied, eyes on hers. "I picked this up too," he said, tossing her a small box. "Didn't have de chance to give it to you with all de commotion goin' on."

She blinked, taken aback. Kitty and Jean exchanged glances as Logan looked back from the pilot's chair, frowning. 

"Buckle up, guys," Scott called from the co-pilot's seat. "We're heading home."

Remy didn't miss how Rogue's face saddened slightly at his words. Did she hate it there that much? He didn't think so – he suspected running away had been an impulsive act, and the fact that she hadn't brought a bag with her suggested that she was intending to go back that night. Maybe she didn't really feel Xavier's was her home. She was a transplant, after all, like him.

"_Un homme_ give a _fille_ a present in a little box, _chere_, mos' girls be rippin' into it."

She gave him a cool glance. "Ah told ya before, swamp rat. Ah ain't most girls." But she opened it anyway, and immediately felt guilty as she drew out a fine silver chain with a pendant of green and black stone. She looked at him again, perplexed. "Ah don' understand."

"It's malachite. My Tante Mattie says it's good for healin'." Exactly what it healed, he wasn't going to say, at least not now. He felt the girls' gazes on him and flashed her another cocky grin. "B'sides – it matches your eyes."

Kitty hid a smile behind her hand. She had never seen her friend so off-balance.

"Thanks," she said. Was that the only thing she could think of to say? She touched the necklace lightly. She couldn't figure him out. One minute, talking to her, listening to her, understanding her. The next, hitting on her like some sort of super-suave frat boy. She wasn't sure which Remy was real. And to tell the truth, she wasn't sure she knew which she preferred. Flirtation and light banter, even insults, were things she could handle. It was the candor that disarmed her, left her open. 

Kurt appeared. "Scott said we'll be at the mansion in about forty minutes. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she admitted. "Ah ache like Ah've just been through a level nine sim in the Danger Room."

"You should rest. Dr. McCoy said he wants to examine you as soon as we get back."

"Go in back and lie down, Rogue," Jean suggested, and Kitty nodded her agreement.

"Yeah, _chere_," Remy drawled. "Dat's a good idea. Want some company?" He waggled his eyebrows at her. Kitty stifled another laugh as Kurt scowled.

On familiar footing once again, Rogue glared. "Jewelry only gets a guy so far, swamp rat. And you got a longer way to go than most." With that, she gingerly made her way to the back, Kurt behind her.

"Yeah," he said, half to himself. "But I'm sure gonna enjoy de trip."

A/N

Thanks to everyone sending in reviews – I'm trying hard not to disappoint.

Panther Nesmith – Of course Remy's gonna piss Logan off. That's a given. So what's going to stop Logan from filleting him like a salmon? That's where things (I hope) will get interesting. I think Kurt probably has a less menacing, though no less sincere, growl. And as for Apocalypse, I'm hammering that out right now. There's not much sense in me recapping the Ascension episodes – why mess with something that was so well done – so it's more a question of making sure this piece dovetails nicely with it. Too, I'm more interested in the ramifications of what we've seen on-screen.

Ishandahalf – The back-and-forth I was referring to was Sorkin's chronology thing – he used that multiple-perspective flashback thing to great effect in both WW and Sports Night. I would _never_ lose the Romy banter – it's magically delicious! And yeah – sniffing the one you're smitten with is a sign you've got it pretty bad. Unless you're Logan, I think. He just sniffs everyone out of habit, the scruffy little puppy!

RogueChere – You're right – the stalker thing is just the tiniest bit ooky. I'm justifying it by telling myself that it's all in the name of true love. And fate. I figure you can get away with a little stalking if you chalk it up to true love and fate, right?

AngieX – Don't fret – Remy will suavely end up where he belongs. Or rather, where I think he belongs. And I'm pretty certain you know where I think that is.


	9. Dane's Employer

"So you lost the girl." The man behind the desk spoke coldly.

Dane shifted on the grey carpeting. "We had her…then the guy with the cards showed up."

"And this individual had a name?"

"Gambit. Had an accent." The man behind the desk nodded, as if Dane was merely confirming something. The lackey battled down a growing sense of unease. "He pretty much blew up the back of the place, and took the girl with him. She was knocked out by then."

Steely eyes regarded him. "Was she injured?"

"You said we could do whatever we needed to bring her in." Silence. "We dosed her drink, but before she passed out, she put up a little bit of a fight. Jimmy might have roughed her up a little."

"She's of no use to me if she can't perform."

"Perform what?" The minute the words were out of her mouth, Dane regretted it.

The frigid smile returned. "Do not ask questions you have no hope of understanding. I want the girl. Do what you have to, but make sure that when she arrives here, her faculties are intact."

"It might take a while. She's probably back at that mansion by now. Getting her out away from all the other mutants could be tough." The wiry man did not relish another encounter with the red-eyed freak.

"I want the girl," he repeated. Then, to himself, "She's the key."

"I'll do my best," Dane said uncertainly.

"Indeed you will." The man turned away. The audience was at a close, Dane knew, and he hurried away, feeling almost sorry for the mutant girl with the streaky hair.

A/N

I know it's a short chapter. It just couldn't be put combined with either the preceding or following ones with any sort of grace. Besides, it's a twofer, so count your blessings.


	10. Raising The Stakes

"So, Gambit, tell me more about the incident at the club." Professor Xavier regarded Gambit calmly, hands tented in front of him. "You said there were three men."

"Two for muscle. The little one was in charge. One of the others called him Dane."

"First or last name?"

"Don' know. He not after her for himself. He pickin' her up on someone else's orders."

"And you say they knew about her powers?"

"Dey were wearin' gloves and long sleeves. Dey real careful not to let Rogue get close enough to touch."  
"Did they exhibit any evidence of being mutants themselves?"

"_Non_. All three were carryin' guns – didn't use any powers dat I could tell."

"Hmn. Is there a chance they were looking to harass just any mutant? Or one from the school?"

"Don' t'ink so. Dey wanted de Rogue. Said it was jus' business. He said he didn' mind hurtin' her," His hands flexed involuntarily. "But he wanted her alive. I don' think they expected her t' put up much of a fight."

"We're indebted to you for coming to her aid."

Gambit shrugged eloquently. "I don' like seein' any _fille_ treated dat way. Woulda' done it for anyone."

Xavier doubted that. "Nevertheless, we're grateful. I'm sure you're aware that Rogue has not had an easy time of it lately."

He nodded, biding his time. It was clear that the Professor was getting around to something.

"Did she…discuss any of it with you?"

"No offense, Professor – if she did, I ain't gonna tell you 'bout it."

Xavier nodded, unsurprised. The man – a boy, really, probably barely 21 – was loyal to Rogue. He had suspected as much. "I understand. And I'm sure Rogue appreciates that."

"Dat girl not always as appreciative as she could be." Gambit said darkly.

Xavier allowed himself a small smile. "Dealing with Rogue can be a challenge, I admit." And he had the distinct feeling that Gambit was more than up to the challenge. "I'll be frank. I'm concerned about her well being. She seems to be spiraling out of control, and the fact that someone is interested enough in her abilities to stage such a brazen attempt…it is worrisome."

"De mansion seems pretty secure." Not enough to keep him out, of course, but few places were.

"It is. But it's only secure if she is willing to stay, and I'm not certain that she is." He watched Gambit. It was a sort of poker game, he realized. Gambit wouldn't tip his hand – wouldn't acknowledge his interest in the girl – until Xavier folded and asked for his help. "She seems to have forged some sort of connection with you. Cyclops said she was quick to defend you when the X-Men arrived this morning."

"Well, she asked Wolfie not to skewer me, if dat's what you mean."

"I do." Xavier changed subjects abruptly. "Are you certain that you've severed ties with Magneto and the Acolytes?" 

"Well, ol' Bucket Head seem to be dead, so I'd say dat's pretty severed. B'sides, like I told _les filles_ on de plane. Dat was contract work. Contract's over." Xavier attempted to probe Gambit's mind – the boy's mental shields were impressive, but he saw enough to confirm what he had said.

"And if I were to offer you another contract?"

He looked at the professor suspiciously. "What 'zactly would I be doin'?"

"Befriending Rogue," he said simply. "She needs someone she can open up to without fear of judgment. She clearly doesn't feel that's possible with anyone here at the Institute. Until Rogue can trust someone in that way, I fear that she will not heal, emotionally or psychologically. And that puts her at risk."

Gambit's eyes narrowed. "And payin' me to be her friend…you t'ink dat's gonna inspire trust?" He shook his head in thinly veiled disgust. "What's that gonna do to Rogue when she finds out?"

"I would prefer that she didn't find out," the professor conceded, watching Gambit closely. "I would prefer not to be in this position at all. But Rogue's welfare is the priority, and I feel that in this case, the end may well justify the means."

That had always been Gambit's philosophy – do what you have to do in order to get what you want. And the challenge of getting closer to Rogue was undeniably appealing. But something about the offer on the table left a sour taste in his mouth. He looked at the professor, keeping his face unreadable.

"I ain't joinin' de X-Men."

"I'm not extending that invitation." Yet.

"An' I ain't wearin any dumb-ass uniform." 

"As you're not a member of the team, I hadn't considered it." The corner of Xavier's mouth twitched.

"I ain't trainin' wit' dem."  
"That's up to you. The facilities here would be at your disposal, with a few exceptions – security precautions, you see."

"I ain't gonna hang out here all the time."

"You may come and go as you please, though I think you'll have an easier time gaining Rogue's trust if the two of you interact frequently."

Trust, Remy thought bitterly, and remembered Rogue crying herself to sleep in his arms. Looking up at him with those astonishing eyes. Jumping in front of Cyclops' energy beam to protect him, despite her injuries. Taking the job would mean betraying all of that, he knew, whether she found out or not.

"_Non._"

"Excuse me?"

"_Non._ I ain't doin' it."

"Ah. May I ask why not? It would be a business arrangement – a well-paying one – just as you had with Magneto."

"I don' need de money. An' I'm done bein' somebody's thug."

"I'm not asking you to be a thug, Gambit. I'm simply asking you to befriend a girl. One it seems that you are already friendly with."

"That's not what you're asking. You're asking me to lie to Rogue so you can keep her here. Dat seems kinda like a thug to me."

"It's to keep her safe."

"It's to keep her under control! And she's had enough of other people controlling her life." He shoved back from the desk, began to pace.

Xavier was silent for a long moment. "You won't stay then? Even for Rogue's sake?" It was a risk, he knew, dangling Rogue's name like that in front of the agitated boy, but one he needed to take.

Gambit thought of the Dane, firing the gun mere inches from her. Of Rogue's lifeless body on the floor of the club, and how light she was when he had picked her up and ran out. Of the nightmares she had woken from, screaming so loud the devil himself was probably scared. The girl was clearly a mess – in trouble and not looking to leave it anytime soon. 

"_De fille be under Gambit's protection now." _

_"Truth's important t'me."_

"Ah ain't most girls."

"You blamin' yourself for the end of the world."

Gambit swore under his breath. "I'll stay. For her, not for a damn paycheck." The view outside the window was of impossibly green hills, and he studied them for a moment. "An' I'm not pleadin' your case to her. If she wants to go, I'll help her do it."

Xavier nodded. "I understand. I'd expect nothing less."

"It ain't 'bout what you expect. It's about bein' her friend."

"I understand," he repeated. "Thank you, Remy. I'll get Jean to show you to your quarters."

It was only after Jean had given him a quick tour and dropped him off outside his room that Remy realized exactly how the Professor had outmaneuvered him. Not only was Remy staying, but he had as much as told the man his feelings for Rogue. He had to hand it to Xavier. The man knew how to bluff.

A/N

Happy birthday, Ishandahalf. Hope you like the present. 

I know I'm not doing review responses today -- my mother-in-law is visiting for both the southern boy's and my birthdays, so time is of the essence. I promise, lots of responses with the next chapter.


	11. A Start, Sort Of

"You may see her after I've examined her, Kurt." Hank McCoy sighed. The boy would wear a groove in the floor of the Med Room if he kept this up. "I'll be as quick as possible, I promise you. Now, please, sit down."

Kurt obeyed reluctantly, and the doctor went into Rogue's cube. The glass door slid shut behind him, and he regarded the pale girl seriously as he pulled on gloves.

"It appears you were quite lucky, Rogue," he said, moving to her side with a syringe. "I'm going to take some blood. I want to know exactly what you were drugged with, and how much longer it will be in your system."

She was silent as he drew the blood and labeled it, setting it on a nearby tray.

"It seems Mr. LeBeau did an excellent job applying first aid. I don't think the cut on your head will require stitches, though you'll probably have a small scar."

She shrugged. 

"How are you feeling now?" he asked, as he began examining her. He was gentle, but she still hissed in pain when he touched her side. 

"That hurts," she said. "My ribcage."

"Yes, I would imagine it does. It appears that you've either bruised the rib or sustained a hairline fracture. There's not much we can do, but you'll need to take it easy for a while. No sims, no missions."

"Ah'm not exactly feeling up to it anyway," she admitted. 

"You'll need to be on bed rest for a few days. I'll keep you overnight for observation." He swabbed the cuts with antiseptic. She didn't wince, he noticed. Just stared stoically ahead.

"You know, Kurt is waiting outside. He would very much like to see you."

"Ah cain't understand why," she replied, fingering the edge of the blue examination gown she wore.

He looked at her, sympathetic. "Perhaps because he's concerned. Has the dizziness passed?"

"Yeah, unless ah move too fast."

"Then I would recommend you go slow. How are your headaches?" She knew he wasn't referring to the hangover the drug had given her, but the migraines brought on by clamping down on the personalities she had absorbed. When Apocalypse had drained her in Tibet, he had taken the powers of everyone she had absorbed, but left the psyches, memories and all, intact. Integrating them promised to be a long, difficult process. In the meantime, she kept the personalities from taking over through sheer will.

"Not as bad as Ah'd expect," she said. "Ah don't quite know why. They're coming back, though."

"You've become quite adept at walling the personalities in. It will never be second nature, but over time, it should require less conscious attention. It's also possible that they were…subdued…by the drug you were given."

"Maybe ah should try it again," she said bitterly.

"I wouldn't recommend it, unless you'd prefer to spend most of your life unconscious."  
"That doesn't sound so bad," she muttered. Hank turned as he stripped off the gloves.

"Self-pity doesn't become you, Rogue. I'll tell Kurt to come in." The door slid open, and he exited.

A few seconds later, Kurt's fuzzy blue head appeared. "Are you decent?"  
"Ah'm dressed," she returned. The light blue gown was long-sleeved, and she pulled the blanket over her legs.

"That's a nice change," he teased.

She flushed. "It wasn't what it looked like," she said uneasily.

He sighed dramatically, then pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. "It never is. Are you feeling better?"

"A little. Dr. McCoy won't give me any painkillers until the drug they gave me is outta mah system."

"So your headaches…"

"They were gone. Now they're back."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. It's mine." Like always.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment. "So…if the thing at Gambit's wasn't what it looked like, what was it?"

"Temporary insanity?" she offered. "He was really nice, Kurt. Ah don't know why, but he was."

"I know why," he muttered darkly. He had seen the way the man's eyes had roved over his sister. "He's bad news."

"Yeah. But he stepped in and helped me when he coulda' walked away."

"You shouldn't have been there to begin with. Are you that miserable here?"

She shrugged, a gesture she had perfected lately. "Ah just needed to be alone."

Kurt's temper flared. "You've been alone for months now! You think we don't see it? You don't eat with us. You don't train with us unless Logan drags you down to the Danger Room. You spend all day locked in your room or wandering the grounds. When you finally decide to show up, it's like you're a zombie. Quit punishing yourself!"

"Oh, is that what Ah'm doin?" For the briefest instant, her own temper flashed, then vanished as if it had never existed.

"Yeah, it is. And it's getting old. Nobody blames you for Apocalypse. It wasn't your fault."

"Mystique was." She looked at her black-clad hands. They didn't look like they were capable of murder. "Ah've said it before, but Ah know it's not enough. Ah'm sorry. Ah really am. Ah don't know why…" she trailed off.

"Don't you?"

"No. Ah don't. Ah wasn't thinkin'…"

"You usually don't," he said. Suddenly, the anger he had been pushing away bubbled up, nasty and bilious. It wasn't a sensation he was used to. "You don't think – you just do what you want."

She didn't disagree, didn't defend herself, and it only served to infuriate him more. "Ah was just so angry, Kurt. When Ah looked at her – she wasn't mah mother. She was just this…this thing… that kept hurting me. Using me and lying to me and Ah wanted her as far away from me as possible."

"Do you think she didn't hurt me, too? She ran experiments on me, Rogue! I don't know how much of me is real and how much she and Magneto engineered. After all of that, then she abandoned me. But like it or not, she was our mother. That has to count for something." 

Rogue shook her head wearily. "Ah'm sorry. Ah don't know what else to say."

"Would you do it again?"

"What?"

"Would you do it again? If we were back on that cliff with her, would you push her off again?"

She sat very still for a long moment. "No," she said finally. "Ah wouldn't."  
"Would you bring her back?"

"Kurt…" she pleaded.

"Answer the question, Rogue. Would you bring her back, like I asked you to?" 

She hesitated for only a second. "No. Ah wouldn't push her off, Kurt, because Ah'd rather go over that cliff myself than hurt you the way Ah have. But there is no way in hell that Ah'd give her the chance to hurt either of us again."

"I never asked for you to protect me from her."

"No, you didn't."

They fell into silence again. She leaned back against the bed and closed her eyes. She was just so tired.

"Rogue…"

"Yeah."

"You're my sister. That counts, too."

She opened her eyes, turned to him. "Ah don't expect you to forgive me, Kurt."

"I know. That's why I'm working on it." He stood. "Get some rest. Kitty's threatening to come and visit you later."

"Hey." He was too good-hearted, she thought sadly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he replied, and was gone.

A/N

Another twofer to make up for the late update. Carry on…


	12. Welcome

Remy paced his new room. Jean had given him the tour, then dropped him off, reminding him that dinner was at six o'clock. It was a nice enough room. Light and spacious, with a view overlooking the hills in the distance. He tested the window – unlocked, and as far as he could tell, no alarm system on it. He wondered idly if Xavier trusted the kids that much, or if the security on the grounds was enough to keep intruders out…and the students in. Probably the latter, he decided. Besides, the man's telepathic abilities undoubtedly helped him keep track of his charges.

_Didn't do such a good job with Rogue, though. _He was curious about that. If the professor was as concerned about the girl as he claimed, why wasn't he keeping a closer eye on her? 

Rogue was in the Med Room, he knew. He thought he'd go see her after dinner, give her a little time to re-acclimate herself. Maybe bring her some dessert. In the meantime, he'd wander the mansion again. He knew he wouldn't feel comfortable until he had the layout down – ins and outs and shortcuts. 

He headed out into the hallway, surprised to see that the room next to his belonged to the little blue guy. "Hey,_ homme,_" he called, smiling inwardly at the barely-concealed scowl. "Nightcrawler, right?"

"Right. Did you want something?"

"Jus' bein friendly." He leaned casually against the door. 

"Yeah. You're a really friendly guy," Kurt muttered.

"You pretty good friends with de Rogue, _non_?"

"Why?" Kurt turned to face him reluctantly.

"Curious. You were real worried about her when you came bustin' in today – didn' go for me, jus' headed straight for her. Got a crush on her, mebbe?"

Kurt scoffed. "Hardly. She's my sister."

Remy's eyebrows lifted. "No offense, _homme,_ but I don' 'zactly see de family resemblance."

"Adopted sister," Kurt amended through gritted teeth. 

"Well, den. Dat's fine."

"So glad I have your approval." Kurt moved to open his door, then turned back to face Remy. "What are you still doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be off doing some errand for Magneto?"

Remy bristled. "Don' you people get de idea of freelance work? Magneto hired me for a job. De job done. Magneto and me – done. _Dieu_!"

"Oh, so that whole trying to kill us thing – that's all over?"

He shrugged. "Dat was business. And de Acolytes weren't tryin' to kill y'all. We were jus' makin' a point."

"And now?"

"Now I'm here."

Kurt's yellow eyes widened in horror. "Are you kidding? Why?"

"Because your professor asked me to stay a little while."

"What? If this is a joke, it's not funny."

"No joke. De professor t'inks Rogue and I could be friends. And he t'inks de_ fille_ need a friend. He's right, too. So I'm stayin', little blue man. Might as well get used to it." He smirked and headed towards the stairs as Kurt stomped into his room and slammed the door.

Remy had just gotten down the stairs when an ominous "snick" warned him that Wolverine was around.

"Charles said you're stayin'." He stalked across the foyer and came to a stop just a few menacing steps away from the Cajun.

"Yep. I decided t' take advantage of de Professor's offer."

"That better be the only thing you're taking advantage of." Wolverine crossed his arms and the light gleamed on his claws.

"Are you implyin' somet'in'?" Remy mocked.

"I'm not big on implying, Cajun. I'm telling. You hurt that girl, you'll be answerin' to me. And you won't be answerin' for long."

"Did it look like I was hurtin' de _femme_ when y'all stopped by dis mornin'?"

Wolverine barely stopped himself from carving Gambit a new smile. "Listen, Gumbo. She's a kid. And she's had a hell of a time lately, so watch yourself around her. And I'll be watching you."

"Hey, I know de Rogue's had it tough. But she ain't a kid. Maybe dat's part o' de problem."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Briefly, Logan considered taking a top-to-bottom swipe of the cocky little bastard. 

"Have you looked at dat _fille_? She really look like a kid to you? _Non, homme_. Nobody could go through everything she has and come out of it a kid. An' if you keep treatin' her like one, she's gonna think you don't trust her or respect her. So who's hurtin' her now?"

Icy fury engulfed Wolverine. "Go to hell. You don't know Rogue, or us. Chuck might be willing to give you a clean slate, but it's a different story with me. I don't like you. I don't trust you. And if I think for a second that you might be hurting Rogue…" he paused, and skewered the deck of cards Remy had been toying with. "…I will cut you into fifty-two pieces and play poker with the parts."

The man was serious, Remy knew. Hell, he'd probably have a beer and a cigar while he dealt out various organs. But Remy LeBeau had been born bluffing. He smiled nonchalantly and shrugged. "Glad we're clear on dat," he said, and forced himself to saunter past Wolverine to a hallway he was pretty certain led to the kitchen. "By the way," he shot over his shoulder. "If you're that worried about Rogue, mebbe you should be spendin' your time lookin' for whoever tried to snatch her last night. They don't seem like the type who're gonna give up. And I guarantee they don't play nice." And with that, he went to find himself a sandwich, leaving a fuming Logan alone.

He stalked to the elevator that would take him to the Danger Room. He had a feeling his sims tonight would be featuring Gambit, and he intended to be very thorough. 

*

*

*

*

*

Remy settled into the kitchen chair with a sigh. He had put together a sandwich out of the well-stocked fridge, scavenged a bag of chips and a cup of lukewarm coffee. "What a day," he murmured, shaking his head. Hearing a noise just outside the door, he straightened, bracing himself for another confrontation.

Then he relaxed as Kitty peeked her head around the doorframe. "Hey," she said tentatively. "Mind if I come in?"

"I'd mind if you didn't, _chere_." He sent her his best smile.

Kitty blushed prettily. "Thanks. I'm Kitty, by the way. Shadowcat." She got a can of Diet Coke and sat down opposite him. "So, are you settling in okay?"

He grimaced. "Oh, yeah. Dey rolled out de red carpet for me."

"I overheard you and Mr. Logan. I wasn't eavesdropping, really. I was taking a shortcut, and you guys were a little loud."

Unless Remy was mistaken, and he wasn't often mistaken about women, the little sprite was quite the source of gossip around the Institute. Her take on all of this should be interesting.

"He ain't real happy I'm stayin' around."

"Well, no, probably not. He's a little protective of Rogue."

"Really? Hadn't noticed," he said dryly. "And how does de Rogue feel about that?"

Kitty pondered this for a moment. "I think she's okay with it. I mean, it shows he cares, right? He gets mad at her in training sessions cause he thinks she gets reckless."

"Well, if she's screwin' up de job, makes sense. Seems a little like callin' de kettle black, but still makes sense."

"She doesn't ruin the mission," Kitty said. "Most of the time, it turns out even better than we planned."

"So den, why he so mad?"

"Because he doesn't want her to get hurt. But you can see that he's underneath the mad, he's really proud of her, 'cause it's what he would've done." 

Remy considered this as he took a bite of sandwich. "And de blue boy?"

"Oh, Kurt?"

"Yeah. He didn't seem thrilled to meet his new neighbor."

"He'll be fine. He was just worried. He knows you helped Rogue out, and that'll go a long way with him. I think he was just shocked to see you and Rogue…um…" She became fascinated with the tab on her can of pop.

"Lookin' friendly?"

She smiled gratefully. "That's a nice way to put it. So are you two…friendly?"

He studied her for a moment, uncertain how to answer. Then, evading the question completely, "You used t go out with de earthquake guy," he said.

Her face fell. "Lance. Avalanche. We didn't really work out," she said softly.

"Hey, _chere_." He reached over and tilted her face up to meet his eyes. "Dat's his loss. All dat rock-shakin' must have scrambled his brain if he wasn't doin' right by you."

"You're sweet," she said. "Even if Mr. Logan thinks you're trouble." Her eyes widened at her gaffe.

Wolverine was more on-target than he knew, Remy thought bitterly. But that wasn't Kitty's fault. "'S'okay, _chere_. You not tellin' me anything I don' already know." But she could, he realized. "So if Wolverine is her guard dog, and Nightcrawler is her brother, who's de Rogue's boyfriend?" He turned his smile on her full force.

"She doesn't have one. She liked Scott for a while, but you can't tell her I told you." She was silent for a minute. "I don't know. She's always been a loner, even before everything that's happened lately. And the whole no-touching rule kind of takes the fun out of things."

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Not all de fun," he said, and laughed as she choked on her drink.

"You're terrible!" she scolded him, but couldn't suppress a grin. 

"You jus' said I was sweet!"

Her dimples flashed. "Maybe you're both. Are you interested in Rogue?" 

"You certainly ain't shy, Kitty-cat."

"Nobody ever tells you anything if you don't ask," she pointed out.

"Sure they do. You jus' gotta listen right."

"Well, I'm listening, but I don't hear you answering my question."

Remy shifted uncomfortably. "She's interesting," he said finally.

"That means yes."

"I din't say dat," he protested.

"Sure you did." She mimicked him, "I was listening. How come you call yourself Gambit?"

"'Cause life's a gamble."

"What's your real name?"

He didn't answer for a minute. "Remy. Remy LeBeau. Not a lotta people use dat name." Rogue did, he mused. It sounded warm and soft when she said it, like rain at dusk, like whisky by a fire, like home.

"Should I just call you Gambit, then?" she asked timidly.

"Non. Remy's fine. Jus' not used to it, dat's all."

Kitty finished her pop. "I'm glad you're staying," she said. "You'll be good for Rogue."

"T'anks," he said quietly. "I hope so."

"Of course," she added sweetly, "if you do anything to hurt her, I'll sit on you and hold you down while Mr. Logan carves you into little bits." He wasn't sure she was kidding.

"Not my intention, _chere_. But t'anks for de warnin."

"You're welcome." She flashed him another grin and left.

He sighed and finished his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully.

*

*

*

*

*

Some time later, he wandered towards the Med Room. He had unearthed a tin of really excellent chocolate-chocolate chip cookies. Rogue struck him as the type with a hidden sweet tooth. As he entered the lab, the furry blue doctor glanced up, his face breaking into a fearsome smile.

"Mr. LeBeau! I was hoping you might visit. I just wanted to add my thanks to that of the others. It was quite fortuitous that you happened upon Rogue in her time of need. I'm Hank McCoy, by the way."

"Nice t'meet you. Can I see her?" He gestured towards the exam room with the cookie.

"Oh, do you like them? I've found the key is the quality of cocoa powder one uses."

Remy blinked. "You made dem?"

Hank shrugged. "Baking is just edible chemistry," he said modestly. "As for Rogue, she's sleeping. Apparently, the drugs she was given are more potent than we had thought. The whole thing is quite confounding."

"What do you mean?"

"Due to her mutation, Rogue often has trouble sleeping. Her nightmares – the memories of the people she has absorbed – make it difficult for her."

"I've noticed."

"Well, then, take a look for yourself." He pushed a button on a keypad, and the opaque glass instantly turned clear, affording the two men a view of Rogue. She was asleep, and though her hands scrabbled lightly on the blankets, there were none of the night terrors Remy had seen in New York. "As I said, unusual." Hank spoke in a low voice, as if he feared he would waken the girl.

"How come de Professor ain't helpin' her?"

"He's tried. But he has been unable to put up mental blocks in her mind himself, and by the end of the day, Rogue's own ability to block the personalities is severely taxed. The Professor believes that the nightmares are another way for Rogue to integrate the personalities without letting them take over completely."

"So she has to sort out all de other people in her head before she can sleep?"

"Not exactly, but close enough. We hope that with training, she will be able to completely seal them off without the unfortunate side effects – the headaches, the dreams, and so on."

Remy shook his head. No wonder she was so tightly wound. "So why she sleepin' okay now?"

The doctor was silent, studying the girl through the glass. "Theories, nothing more." He turned to Remy. "I don't suppose you have any ideas?"

"Not really," he said off-handedly. "Can I leave this in there for her? I promise I won't wake de _fille_."

"Go ahead. It's a good choice," he added, motioning towards the cookie. "Those are her favorite." He returned his worktable as Remy entered the exam room without a sound.

He set the cookie on the side table and watched her for a moment. The plain white cotton blanket had slipped to her waist, and he gently tugged it back over her. She turned and curled into a ball, burrowing her face in the pillow, but didn't wake. The chain of her necklace gleamed dully, and he imagined the pendant lying warm against her heart. Almost without thinking, he selected a card and placed it next to the cookie, leaving as silently as he came. 

A/N

So, here's part two, and in the spirit of duos, I have bad news and good news. The bad news is that the Floridian Nightmare Vacation (henceforth known as FNV) begins soon, and I doubt I'll be able to update again before we leave. The good news is that since I'll be trapped there for over a week (I'm an ungrateful wretch, I know), I should have plenty of time to get some writing done.

AthenaAlpha – Since this is my first fic, I don't know if I'll do other pairings. I've read several Rogue/Logan (Rogan?) fics that I've enjoyed, but I'm not sure I have the knack for it. I think that Remy and Rogue have enough issues between them that they can go for quite some time before everything is resolved to my exacting specifications. I'm enjoying your pieces, though. Huh. I should probably put that in your review section, shouldn't I? I'll try to do that once I get this typed up.

Ishandahalf – The lad is a puzzle, isn't he? I haven't met many boys who aren't. That's one of the things I like best about them, to tell the truth. I'm not sure he knows exactly what his feelings are, or if he's comfortable with them. And when you say the Prof is sneaky and conniving, you mean in a good way, right?

RajinCajun, DemonRogue13, Lid'l Rogue, Delirioushatter, chichi5, Jukebox, Snow Queen2 – Glad you're enjoying it, and thanks for the warm words – it's so gratifying to get positive reviews. I'd like to update more often, but I'm a bit of a perfectionist, and what with the tweaking and the research and making sure there's some degree of continuity, I figure once- to twice-a-week is about the best I can do and still respect myself in the morning.

GambitsRogue – Yeah, Logan's been kind of mean. Did you see Ghost of A Chance – where he went off on Rogue for leaving her partner (Kitty)? I thought he was being a little harsh, and started kicking around in my head exactly why that would be, and in a really, really roundabout way, you end up with this story.

RogueChere – Yes, he's staying to be her "friend." And I'm sure his interest in her well-being is strictly platonic and altruistic, don't you think? As if. But yeah, he's staying. I'm struggling with the employer – I don't really want to do an OC, but the alternative is an alliance I'm not sure I can pull off. Then again, I'm even less confident in my ability to inject an OC into such a well-established group of characters. As for the short chapters, I agree. I just can't figure out a way to gracefully combine chapters when the POV and timing is so different.

PantherNesmith, Yumiko, Ray1 – Thanks. I figure you don't get the mansion and the fancy wheelchair and your own team of superheroes to boss around if you can't make people dance like puppets every once in a while. 

GothicCajun – Thanks, but don't cry. I'll feel guilty. And have I got a guilt complex already!

AngieX – No! No evil (or mean) Professor, I promise! I think he's worried about Rogue, and he's seen (or heard from the others) that there's some kind of connection between her and Remy. He's desperate enough to bring Remy in to help draw Rogue out. At the same time, he needs to make sure that the cure isn't worse than the disease, so to speak; he needs to be certain that Remy won't intentionally hurt her. Since he can't really read Remy's mind, Xavier has to maneuver him into showing that Remy doesn't view Rogue as just a business transaction. Once Remy says he won't take the money, Xavier knows that Remy can, at least in this area, be trusted. Ultimately, he's trying to do what's best for Rogue -- he's just not above manipulating people to accomplish that goal.

Flamekiller -- Thanks. Despite the slow updating, I'm actually writing as fast as my fingers will go. It's just that I'm so far ahead of what's posted, and it's such boggy ground, that I'm trying to be careful about not painting myself into a corner plot-wise. I'm also hampered by not knowing that much about the comicverse backgrounds of a lot of the characters, so I spend a fair amount of time researching, then deciding what to keep and what to ignore. 


	13. Recovery

Rogue woke from the nap to discover the cookie and the king of hearts on the nightstand. Starved, she snatched it up greedily. The doctor's cookies were to be hoarded, she knew. It was gone in a few bites and she laid back down, smiling despite herself. She studied the card. So Remy had visited, she thought, glad she had slept through the visit. She wasn't quite sure how to handle herself around him; she wasn't sure she could. Embarrassment and attraction were causing yet another conflict in her head. 

The clock on the wall read ten-thirty p.m. It seemed years since she had struck out from the Institute, and yet it was only a day later. She felt rested, despite the aches from her injuries. She closed her eyes briefly, and opened them again at the "whoosh" of the Med Room doors. It was a little late for visitors, but she wasn't surprised at the figure in the door. "Ah was wonderin' when you'd be swingin' by," she said dryly.

"I'm glad to see you safe, Rogue." The professor wheeled over to the side of the bed.

"Thanks." She paused for a minute, fiddling with the sheet. "Ah'm sorry Ah caused so much trouble."

"Was that your intention when you left?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course not. Ah just wanted to get away from things for a little while."

"Running away rarely solves things, Rogue."

"Ah wasn't runnin' away. Ah just needed a little space. Logan does it all the time – do you give him this lecture?"

"Logan leaves to find answers about his missing time. You left to avoid facing your problems – and that is a textbook definition of running away."

Shamed, she played with the sheet some more. "Ah'm sorry. Am Ah gonna be punished?"

"Your actions have consequences, Rogue. That's one of the key things we try to teach students here at the Institute. Your behavior does not occur in a vacuum."

"So Ah'm bein' punished."

"You're receiving consequences."

"That's just a fancy word for punishment." She crossed her arms over her chest and sulked.

"You're not to leave the grounds of the mansion for a month, save for missions." She scowled at that, but didn't say anything. "You're doubling up on Danger Room sessions – you'll meet with Logan twice a day until he says otherwise." Her scowl deepened. "We're going to increase our sessions together as well – we'll be meeting every morning whether you feel up to it or not. I believe it is critical that you increase the rate at which you're processing the personalities you've absorbed. And you're done hiding in your room. I'm taking the lock off the door and you _will_ be joining the team for dinner every night. I don't care if Jean and I have to transport you telekinetically." 

"But—" she sputtered, wincing as she shot up. The professor merely held up a hand and continued.

"We have allowed you to isolate yourself for long enough, Rogue. I have given you the opportunity to cope with recent events on your own, as you requested. You clearly have not done that. Now you've been targeted by someone for unknown purposes, though I'm certain the interest in you is not benign. I will not permit you to endanger yourself, or the team, any further."

"Nobody was in any danger today!"

"Because Gambit happened to intervene. What if your abductors had succeeded, and the team had to rescue you from someone significantly more hostile?"

She ducked her head. "Ah'm sorry. But to take the locks off – Kitty needs privacy too," she said, desperation creeping into her voice.

He raised an eyebrow. "Kitty is one of the least private people in the Institute. But I'm sure she'll be touched by your concern."

"That's me, all concern and consideration." She settled back in the bed, wincing again at the pain in her side.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Okay. Mah side hurts, but Dr. McCoy said no painkillers for a while longer."

"I'm sorry. You were very fortunate."

"Ah know."

"You should know, Rogue, that I have invited Gambit to stay at Institute indefinitely." He watched her closely.

"What? Remy's joinin' the X-Men?" She was stunned, and appalled. Lying in bed, she had been mortified to remember her behavior at his apartment. "You're kiddin', right?"

"I did not invite him to join the X-Men. I merely told him that we were grateful to him for helping you, and offered to let him stay here for as long as he likes."

"I don't get it. Why would you do that?"

"I thought it would be good for you to have him around. Both Jean and Scott felt that the two of you had made some sort of connection."

Heat flared in her cheeks. "He helped me out, but that doesn't mean we have some sort of…thing…goin' on. And Ah'm not a charity case. Ah can make mah own friends."

The professor chuckled inwardly. Scott's stammering description of the scene at the apartment had hinted something was indeed going on, and she was still wearing the necklace Jean had mentioned. "I didn't mean to suggest that, Rogue. But I thought it might be nice for you to have a friend here."

"He ain't my friend," she protested. She didn't know what he was. But "friend" was not the word that sprang to mind when she pictured him.

"Not yet. Friendship takes time. But I will say that he seems genuinely concerned about you."

She shook her head, her mouth twisting into a wry smile. "He's bad news. You're gonna regret doin' this, Ah guarantee it."

"It's funny you should say that. Logan said exactly the same thing when I informed him." She rolled her eyes. "It's late, Rogue. You should get some sleep. Hank says you can go back to your room tomorrow."

She nodded. "Ah'm sorry Ah had you all so worried, Professor."

"It's all right, Rogue." He didn't mention that she was still worrying them. "Good night." He rolled out of the room and she laid back in bed, staring at the ceiling tiles. Remy at the Institute. Gambit, she reminded herself. He was Gambit, not Remy. Whatever had happened in that apartment had been, as she told Kurt, some sort of temporary insanity, a reaction to the drugs and the shock of the situation. He was trouble. She might have shoved his memories to the back of her mind and sealed them off, but she didn't need his memories to know that he was arrogant and wild and completely unreliable. Trouble, she reminded herself, turning the playing card over and over in her hand. And she didn't need any more of that. 

She drifted off remembering what it felt like to sleep next to him.

*

*

*

*

*

The lone figure approached the Med Room silently. It was after midnight, and he was relieved to see that the soft noise of the automatic doors didn't wake her. There was a small lamp burning on the side table, and he could see the multitude of cuts and bruises. The gash on her forehead was neatly bandaged, but the bruise across her cheekbone was turning an ugly purplish-yellow and looked painful. The chart on the counter outside her room had indicated she had two hairline fractures in her ribs, and several more bruised. She'd be hurting for a while, he knew.

She was shuddering slightly, even in sleep. The whimpers that escaped tore at him. He knew what it was like to be hounded by your nightmares. He hated knowing that many of her dreams were his. And he knew that she had them every night. He could hear her on his nightly rounds, crying out and writhing in fear. It was a good thing Kitty slept like the dead, he thought grimly. Watching Rogue relive those nightmares would ruin anyone's sleep.

He couldn't shake that guilt, and he couldn't help her get rid of the dreams, when he still had them himself. But there were other hurts he could heal. And so he crossed to her and gently brushed back the white locks that had fallen in her face, touching her good cheek lightly with his bare hand. The contact tugged at him, and he stood braced against it for a moment, feeling a piece of him transfer to her, seeing the bruises fade. He moved his hand away and staggered to the chair to recover, watching in wonderment as her breathing eased slightly and the cut along her forehead healed up. She didn't wake.

He waited until he was sure he could walk again, and then left as silently as he had come.

*

*

*

*

*

The next morning, Dr. McCoy examined her in amazement. "You're fine," he said, stunned. Your lacerations have healed nicely – you've managed to avoid that scar I mentioned. How are your ribs?"

She ran a tentative hand along her side. "They feel okay. I don't get it."

"Well, a good night's rest can work wonders," he said dubiously. "Go ahead and get dressed, and meet me out in the lab. We'll discuss the rest of your recovery."

She was unsurprised to see Logan and the Professor waiting for her in the lab along with the blue doctor. "So I'm set to go?"

"I don't see why not," said Hank, "But I do think it's quite unusual for injuries such as the ones you've sustained heal so quickly. It's as if you had some sort of latent healing power that manifested itself overnight."

All eyes turned to Logan, who shrugged. "Can she train now?" he asked brusquely, toying with a vial of something on the counter. The Beast snatched it away.

"Give her a day, and start off slowly, but yes, she should be well enough to start running sims again." He looked apologetically at Rogue. Twice-daily sessions with Logan, particularly an angry Logan, were enough to land some students back in the Med Room. He fervently hoped Rogue would not be one of them.

"Rogue," said the Professor. "We'll start our sessions tomorrow, I think. Use today to get settled back in. I believe Kitty is waiting for you." He turned to Hank. "Let's go over that data again, shall we?"

"Certainly, Charles. Rogue, don't hesitate to come back in if you're feeling unwell. And don't overdo it," he warned, sliding a glance at Logan. "I'll check in with you later today."

"Thanks, Dr. McCoy." She gathered her things up slowly, uncertain what she should say to Logan. "Thanks to you, too," she said softly. 

"Don't mention it," he said gruffly.

"No, it was really nice—"

He cut her off. "I said don't mention it, kid." he growled again, and stalked out.

Utterly dumbfounded, Rogue sighed heavily and headed back to her room.


	14. Dane Returns

Dane squinted through the field glasses. The mansion might as well have been a fortress. All of his earlier reconnaissance had indicated that the security on the grounds and in the building was close to impenetrable. Nothing had changed, at least as far as he could tell. In fact, the feral-looking man in black was roaming over the grounds with increased intensity. Dane had watched as a large black jet had flown back to the school, disappearing over a cliff. He assumed the girl had been on it, as activity around the school was decidedly less frantic than it had been the morning after the botched abduction.

Something on the roof moved. He focused in on it, and was chagrined to spot the man with the duster who had interfered at the club. "Gambit," he muttered. There was a score he'd like to settle. Clearly, his employer had not been surprised at the man's appearance, and Dane wondered why. He had given every indication that the girl was a loner – no friends, an easy target. She would have been, too, had this Gambit fellow not shown up. He watched as the lanky mutant stood and stretched, apparently oblivious to the steep pitch of the roof, then gracefully swung down and back through an open window. 

Dane knew he wouldn't be able to breach the mansion's security, at least not without things getting considerably messier than he liked. Going in after the girl was not an option. His odds of snatching her on the grounds were slim as well. He frowned. That meant drawing her out, he knew. He tucked the field glasses back in her pocket and left, the beginning of a plan taking shape in his head.

A/N:

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, we're back, baby! The FNV has ended. Unfortunately, I was unable to spend much time on the story, for reasons that can be better understood over at my livejournal (see above). But here you go -- another twofer. And I managed to outline the next fifteen chapters or so. Not for the squeamish. Expect a rating change by Christmas.

Now for the reviews -- and I think I'm forgetting people, but I'm too tired right now to go back and double-check. Please don't be offended -- I'm working my tail off on the next chapter.

Ning-Ning -- Welcome to the party!

Letanica -- Why, thanks! Seriously, I would have rather been here writing than in FL. Of course, I would have rather had a root canal without Novocain, too, so maybe that's not saying much. But I think you get the point. I, too, spend a lot of night-time hours searching for good x-men stories. And as for conflict…there's all sorts of conflict coming. It's like a smorgasbord of conflict. If only my fingers were faster…

Kuroyuri -- Someday, I'd like to write a book, so thanks for the encouragement. And what can I say. I'm a geek. Love the researching. Love online type research, love dusty-stacks type research, love "calling-the-county-extension-service" type research. If anybody out there knows good sites for x-men background info, feel free to email me the link.

AngieX -- Two reviews! Thank you thank you!


	15. Girltalk

Chapter 16: Girltalk

"You're back!" Kitty shoved the laptop aside and rushed to greet her friend. Catching sight of Rogue's healed face, she stopped and gaped. "What happened? You're totally better! I mean, it's great, but wow!"

"Logan," Rogue said tersely, crossing to her bed.

"What do you mean?"

"He healed me. Ah think. Ah fell asleep last night looking like Ah had been in a bar fight."

"Well, you kind of were…" 

She glared. "And Ah woke up like this," she indicated her face. "Wantin' a beer. So Ah'm thinking he came in last night and made me absorb him."

"Awww. He was really worried about you, y'know."

"Coulda fooled me. He barely spoke to me on the way back from New York, and he completely shut me down this morning when Ah tried to say thanks." Her throat tightened as she remembered the disdain in his eyes.

"Just because he was worried doesn't mean he's not mad," Kitty pointed out. "In fact, it probably makes him more mad."

"Ah noticed." She tugged her boots off, leaned back on the bed, and shut her eyes.

"He threatened Remy, you know." _That'll get her attention._

Rogue looked up sharply. "He went after the swamp rat? When?"

"Yesterday afternoon. In the foyer." 

She groaned and sank onto her bed. "What happened?"

"He told Remy – Gambit," she amended quickly at the flash in Rogue's eyes, "that if he did anything to hurt you, he'd slice and dice him."

"Logan used the phrase 'slice-and-dice'?"

"No, he was a little more graphic."

"What'd Remy do?"

"Oh, that's the best part! He totally blew Mr. Logan off. He just said that maybe he should be out looking for the guys who were after you."

Rogue just stared.

Kitty shrugged. "He's mad. He'll get over it. He always does, with you."

Rogue stayed silent. This was a different kind of mad, she wanted to tell Kitty. And she didn't have a clue how to fix it.

So," Kitty said after a pause. "Kurt said he visited you."

"Yeah." She studied the ceiling.

"Are things…better?"

"Ah guess."

"He was worried, too." Another pause. "We all were." _We still are_.

"Kit, Ah'm really tired. It's been a crappy coupla days, and tomorrow's not lookin' a whole lot better. All I want is a nap and a shower, in that order. Can we do this some other time?"

Hurt flashed over the younger girl's features. "Sure," she said stiffly, turning back to her computer. "Sorry I bothered you."

"Wait, Kit. Ah'm sorry." Rogue pushed up to sitting. "Ah didn't mean to snap at you."

"No, it's fine," Kitty said, busying herself with something on the laptop. "I just thought you might want to talk about what happened with Remy."

She sagged back on the bed. "Nothing. Nothing happened."

"It didn't look like nothing. And that's not the way he's acting."

"What does that mean?"  
"He's staying, isn't he?" Kitty smiled knowingly.

"Only cause the professor asked him to. Cause he feels sorry for me." He _pitied_ her. The thought of it swamped her with nausea.

"I don't think so." She watched her friend's face carefully. "He's a sweetheart, you know," she said with studied casualness.

"He's anything but. And when did you become an expert on Remy LeBeau anyway?"

"I'm not an expert. But I'm not blind, either. And it's so obvious that he likes you."

"What?"

_Gotcha. _"He's totally interested in you. You should have heard him when we were having lunch."

"You had lunch?" She shot up again.

"Well, he did. I had something to drink. But we had a nice talk."

"What did he say? Never mind. Ah don't want to know." She flopped back down. "Okay. Just tell me."

"He is totally, totally into you, Rogue. It was written all over his face – and you should have heard him when we were having lunch. He had a zillion questions about you, but he avoided answering anytime I asked him anything personal." She paused for a moment, considering. "And he doesn't seem to mind about the no-touching thing."

"What do you mean?" Hope flared wildly in her chest, and it took all of her control to tamp it down. No guy – particularly one with Remy's obvious experience – was going to want a girl they couldn't touch. Maybe for the chase. But not for real.

"When I said that your powers took a lot of the fun out of a relationship, he said, 'Nawt ahwl dee fuhn.'" Rogue snickered at Kitty's imitation of the Cajun accent. "And gave me a really naughty look. He _so _likes you."

"Wait. You said that? About mah powers?" She was mortified. More mortified than she had upon thinking about the previous two days' events, which was saying something. "Ah can't believe you did that, Kit!"

"I'm sorry! We were just talking, and he was so nice, and so charming, and I guess it just spilled out."

"Charming, huh? Jerk." At Kitty's wounded look, she clarified. "Him. Not you. You were a blabbermouth."

"Sorry," she said, but she didn't look sorry. "You know, you still haven't told me what happened at the apartment."

"Didn't you and your new best friend already talk about it?"

"Nope," she said, unfazed. "So spill. I'm not going anywhere until you do."

"Ah told you. Nothin' happened." She picked at a cuticle.

"Why were you naked?"

"Ah wasn't naked!" Her face flamed. "Ah had a shirt on."

"Gambit's shirt. Where was yours?" 

"Mah clothes were pretty trashed from the fight at the club. He had just brought in some new ones when you all came bustin' in."

"You were passed out when he brought you back?"

"Yeah."

"So he had to undress you." She was trying not to smirk, and failing miserably.

"Kitty, Ah'm tryin' very hard not to think about that particular aspect of things." He must have, she knew, and she was furious that she had been at such a disadvantage. A thought struck her. "What if he tried somethin'?"

Kitty waved a hand dismissively. He didn't."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. He's honorable."

"Right. That man wouldn't know honorable if it came up and bit him on the ass."

"It's a nice ass, though." Kitty dissolved into giggles. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

"Ah hadn't noticed," she said dryly_._

"Okay, okay." Kitty held her hands up in mock surrender. "So why did Jean say you were afraid? He wasn't hurting you, was he?"

Rogue thought back to the feel of his hands on her back, the warmth and strength of his body through the flannel, how very soft his lips had seemed right before Logan crashed through the window. "He was about to kiss me," she said absently. Kitty shrieked in glee, and brought Rogue back to the present. "Ah mean, it seemed like it, and Ah was afraid Ah'd absorb him again." Unconsciously, she brushed a hand over her lips.

"Oh, sure. You weren't at all worried that you might like kissing him."

"Ah was worried Ah might put him in a coma and start blowing things up!"

"If you say so." Kitty's brown eyes regarded Rogue skeptically.

"God, Kit. Ah made a complete fool out of myself."

Kitty looked at her in disbelief. "How? He doesn't seem to think so."

Rogue ticked off the reasons on her fingers. "First, Ah end up passing out at a club, losing a fight, and needin' him to rescue me. Then, he sees me naked. Or close enough. Then, you all come and fetch me home like a little kid who wandered off at the grocery store. Then, the professor convinces him to stay around, because Ah'm so pathetic I need someone else to find me friends. And then, you blab to him about my powers getting in the way of…things. So, yeah, Ah'd say Ah look like the world's biggest fool." She shook her head. "Ah'll just have to avoid him until he leaves. Better yet, Ah'll make him miserable until he leaves. Faster that way." Ruthlessly, she pushed away the memory of the cookie waiting for her in the Med Room. How had he known?

"You're nuts." Kitty said flatly. "What's really bothering you about this?"

"Isn't what Ah've already said enough?" 

"It would be, but I don't believe you. Something happened with you guys. I can tell by the way you talk about each other. What was it."

Rogue put the pillow back over her face. Maybe it would be easier to just suffocate herself. "He made me cry."

"What? What did he say? Did he hurt you?" Kitty couldn't decide if she was more stunned by the act or the admission.

"No. He just said things…he made it seem like he really understood me." And if he did, she thought, then something must have happened to him. Something that caused the raw grief in his eye when he stared out the window and told her they were alike. What was it?

"Who's to say he doesn't?"

"He doesn't. He's not interested in me, Kitty. The whole time, he was just trying to show me that he could make me swoon. Just like every other girl on the planet." _Dat what happens when I turn on de charm. _The memory made her ache. She bit down hard on her lip and the tears threatening to fill her eyes dissipated.

"Hey – he's definitely swoon-worthy. But he didn't act like that when I was talking to him."

"Trust me. He's all about gettin' the girls." She tried to forget the way she had cried herself to sleep in his arms. Burying her head in her hands, she moaned, "Ah'm never gonna live this down."

"Well, no, probably not. But not because something's going on with you two."

"Nothing's going on!"

Kitty regarded her friend dubiously. "That's a nice necklace you're wearing, Rogue."

Her hand flew to the pendant. "He was just being a smart-ass."

"Oh, yeah. Cause nice jewelry is the gift of choice for smart-asses this season."

"It's just a necklace, Kit. It didn't mean anything." 

"He said it was for healing."

"He made it up."

"No, he didn't. I looked online. Here." Kitty stood and retrieved the laptop. "See? I bookmarked the site." She crossed her arms and looked smug.

"'Malachite,'" she read slowly. "'Good for healing and drawing out of pain, both physical and emotional. Brings peaceful sleep. A stone for new beginnings and transformations.' Peaceful sleep," she murmured. He had watched her sleeping. He had seen her having Logan's nightmares. She softened for a moment, but then the old Rogue was back. "He doesn't mean it."

"Sure he does. He likes you. I can tell. And you like him."

"Ah do _not_ like him." The lie was bitter on her tongue. 

"You totally like him. You're just scared."

"Ah'm not scared!"

"Sure you are! You opened up to him, and now you're scared, because he's gotten close, and you can't stand to get close to people."

"Have you forgotten what happens when Ah get close to people?"

"That's a really convenient excuse, isn't it?" Kitty retorted. "Go ahead and be angry, Rogue. Go ahead and be scared. But if you push Gambit away because of those feelings, then you're just being stupid." She gathered up the laptop again. "It's not wrong to want happiness, Rogue," she said more gently, touching her friend's shoulder. "It's wrong to think you don't deserve it. I'll see you at dinner." And with that, she left her friend alone with her thoughts.

A/N

Apologies for the delay in updating. This chapter took for-freaking-ever to come together, and even now, I'm displeased with it. But in the interest of moving on, here it is. It's also late, and I've just finished proofing a bunch of (paying) jobs, so I'm sure I've missed typos. And so it goes.

The next few chapters seem much better-behaved than this one, so I'm hoping to post again this weekend.

A general shout out to those who complained that Ch. 14 was too short. I know, I know. Eventually, the bad guys and the good guys will share a chapter, and much chaos will ensue. I just don't want you to forget about Dane & co. in the interim.

Jukebox – Many thanks for the speedy response. You are like the Pietro of reviewers.

AngieX – Fear not – Romy is a-comin'.

RogueChere – I agree. There's just no way that Wolverine wouldn't heal her – hence the basis for many, many movieverse Rogue/Logan fics. And he is indeed a sweetheart, though he doesn't want anyone to know it. As for the professor, he was hard on Rogue, but for a reason, as you will see.

Ishandahalf –You would expect Rogue to get her back up about the whole consequences thing, wouldn't you? Don't you find it worrisome that she didn't? I do. And so does Professor X. Sinister – did you know that in Latin, sinister means left? Dexter means right, which is where we get the word dexterous. As a lefty, I find that interesting. Just a little bit of etymology for you… And oh…were you wanting Remy? Welcome to the club. He's been a little busy, but he'll make an appearance soon. Please don't send the crack bunnies after me.

AnimeAddicted – You are both kind and prolific. Thanks. I'm off to read your stuff as soon as I get Ch. 15's first draft finished.

Caliente, Rogue Cajun, and Jaded Beauty – Thanks – again, sorry with the lateness. I am bad.

Taineyah – You're sweet. Like I said, this isn't on a par with Almost A Second Chance, but you're sweet.

GothicCajun – Yeah, Logan and Rogue in EvoVerse is not quite kosher. In movieverse, I can buy it, though. He was sweet to heal her, though, particularly since he's about to come down on her like a ton of bricks.

Letanica – You think you're bad? I just realized I haven't updated since 25 Nov. That, my friend, is bad. As opposed to An' Everythin' Nice, which was really touching. I can't get it out of my head. Tell you what – I'll post more if you do.

Okay, I'm off to finish up the next chappie, in which much angst and revealing of motives takes place. And who is that on the horizon? Why, it's Remy!


	16. An Evening's Conversations

Author's notes at the beginning this time, guys. Sorry for the ridiculously long time between updates. There were computer issues that had me screaming in the night, and then the bunny turned three, which involved many parties, and then everyone at our house dropped with the flu, save for me, and then we had Christmas at three different places. So I was bad, and I am contrite. To make up for it, a big ol' chapter. And look! I brought the Romy!

No review responses today, else it would be 2005 before I posted.

Sundays were family dinner night at the Institute. Weeknights, the kids took turns cooking, Saturday was takeout, but on Sundays, everyone sat down for a traditional family dinner. Or, at least, as traditional as one could expect at a school full of mutants.

"Kurt, save some for the rest of us," Kitty said. She waved away the platter of roast beef and tugged the mashed potatoes out of Kurt's grasp. "Honestly!" 

"Sorry, Kitty," he said through a full mouth. "Can I get you something else?"

"No, thanks," she said. "Remy, what would you like?"

"I'm fine, _petite_," he said. He held up his plate, laden with food. "T'anks, though." He was watching the scene unfold around him. Most of the students were ranged around the table, talking, laughing, jostling for food. The Professor had yet to join the group, so a watchful Ororo, a resigned Hank, and a very chagrined Logan were keeping an eye on things. A collision between Bobby and Jamie en route to the table had resulted in several Jamies wandering about the room, each stuffing his mouth with rolls as rapidly as possible. From across the room, Logan took a swig of beer and eyed Remy balefully.

"I apologize, everyone. I was tied up on an overseas call," said the Professor as he came in. He glanced around the room. "I see Rogue has not joined us." 

"_Non._ She told the Kitty-cat she wasn't hungry." Remy had unwittingly sat just two seats down from the Professor, between Kitty and a boy named Sam.

Xavier frowned. She was testing her consequences already. "Kurt, go and get Rogue from her room, please."

Kurt looked uncomfortable. "Are you sure, Professor? Maybe she needs to rest."

"Go get her, Elf. Tell her she's got three minutes, or I'll come up and get her. And I won't be nice about it." Logan crossed his arms and ignored the Professor's warning look.

"Be right back," said Kurt uncertainly, and disappeared.

"I'd have gone up," Remy offered in a low voice. The Professor shook his head.

"I know you would," he said. "And I thank you for it. But I don't want her to see you as the disciplinarian in this situation."

"Why send de blue boy, den? Ain't she gonna be angry wit him, too?"

"Annoyed, perhaps. But if she and Kurt can quarrel over things like this, I'll consider it progress. At this point, getting Rogue angry about _anything_ would be progress. "

"Seems like a strange sort o'progress," Remy said, and turned back to his food.

A few minutes later, Kurt appeared with a visibly edgy Rogue. She stood in the doorway, ready to bolt at the slightest encouragement.

"_Bonsoir, chere_," Remy drawled, standing up. "Care t'join us?" He gestured to the empty chair across from him. 

Her brother, though, tugged gently at her hand. "C'mon, Rogue. You can sit here." He led her to a seat at the far end of the table. She shot Remy a fleeting glance, then groaned inwardly. The chair Kurt had steered her to was the farthest from Remy, which was good. She hadn't forgotten Kitty's words, but she hadn't a clue what to do about them. A little distance at dinner was comforting. But the seat was also next to Logan's, and judging from the stony look on his face as she sat, he was still furious with her. She had known he would be angry about her taking off, but she had also expected him to understand how badly she needed to be alone. Clearly, whatever respect had remained after the encounter with Mystique had vanished after this latest escapade. The thought caused whatever appetite she might have had to vanish. She couldn't refuse Kurt without making a scene, though, and all the other spots were taken. This, she realized, was another consequence of coming late to dinner.

"Do y'all dress for dinner every night?" Remy asked Kitty. He couldn't take his eyes off Rogue. She wore a black skirt made of some kind of floaty material that swirled slightly when she walked, and a black sweater with delicate white embroidery at the neck and cuffs. She was still wearing the necklace, he noted, and smiled as she touched it absently, nervously.

"Only Sundays. The rest of the week is chaos," she assured him. Rogue kept stealing glances at Remy, she saw, and smiled to herself.

For the most part, dinner progressed smoothly. Xavier had implemented a "no powers at the dinner table" policy several months back, and so there were only a few minor catastrophes. Rogue ate little and said less. Remy had expected that she would react badly upon finding out he was the mansion's newest addition, but he had been hoping for a little more confrontation. He could get around barbs and insults, withering looks and hot glares. Hell, he enjoyed those sorts of challenges. But this smooth indifference – not rude, really, just not open – was more difficult to scale. He couldn't even bait her properly, not with Wolverine glaring at him every time he looked down the table. The guy was looking for any excuse to skewer him, and Remy wasn't really interested in obliging the man.

"So, Gambit," said Jean, bringing his attention back to the table. "You're from the South?"

Rogue didn't turn, but she went still, straining to hear his response over the chatter between them.

"N'awlins," he said easily. "Born an' bred."

"Your family's there, then?"

Rogue slid a glance in his direction, and saw his body tense and relax again so quickly no one else noticed.

"_Oui,_" he said, in that same lazy drawl. But she knew there was tension underneath those words, no matter what his tone indicated.

"I've heard the city is amazing," Jean continued. "Have you been back recently?"

"_Non_," he replied. "Could I get some more of those green beans, little man?" he asked Jamie. The younger boy hurried to oblige, watching Rogue's rescuer with something akin to hero-worship in his eyes. "T'anks." 

"They must miss you," Jean persisted, "Especially with the holidays coming up."

Remy was still smiling that pleasant, easy smile, but Rogue could see the effort it was costing him. His eyes had hardened slightly, and his hands, toying with the silverware, suddenly seemed restless. So, she mused, family and home were sore spots. She knew what that felt like, and took pity on him.

"Can't see why anybody'd miss a swamp rat like you," she called down the table. Kitty shot her a dirty look, and the professor smiled knowingly. The rest of the table just looked baffled.

Remy's entire body relaxed. "Now _chere_," he chided. "We can't all have family dat chases after us whenever we go missin'." The entire group went silent, watching the pair.

"You do plenty enough chasin' on your own," she said shortly.

"Only when somet'in' catches my interest," he said with a broad grin.

"And Ah'll bet you've got a wide range of interests, don't you?" There was enough heat behind her words to turn his gaze speculative.

"Not at de moment. Pretty narrow focus right now."

She rolled her eyes and returned to her green beans, confident that she had drawn Jean's attention away from the obviously sensitive topic of Remy's family. She toyed with the idea of pulling Remy's personality from the walled-off chamber in her mind and discovering exactly why that was. But she tossed the notion aside immediately. It was exhausting, for starters, and poking around in a past he clearly didn't want to share seemed like a poor way to repay him for his help.

She turned back to her food, mindlessly moving vegetables and potatoes around on her plate. With a sigh, she set down her fork and pushed the plate away.

"You're done?" Kurt asked, taking in the mounds of food still in front of her. "You've barely touched it!"

"Ah'm not that hungry," she murmured.

"But you should eat," he said.

"No, thanks," she said, giving her brother a weak smile. "Maybe later." She turned to the professor, intending to ask if she could be excused, when a hand came down heavily on her gloved wrist. 

"Eat. Your. Dinner." Logan said quietly, his voice low and hard. There was no particular emphasis to the words, no real anger behind them, just a cool order she knew better than to disobey.

Sullen, she picked up her fork and ate a small bite. "Happy?" she asked.

He looked right through her. "Not even close, kid." He pushed away from the table abruptly. "You've got a danger room session tomorrow at five," he said. "Get your ass there on time. I won't be as nice as the elf if you're late again."

"Ah'll be there," she mumbled, but he was already striding away.

An awkward silence again fell upon the table. Few people had heard the conversation, but everyone had seen Logan leave, had heard the harsh tone, if not the words, and had seen Rogue cringe at both.

"He always that hard on her?" Remy asked in an undertone.

Kitty shook her head wordlessly. They were all used to Logan growling at Rogue, but there was usually an undercurrent of affection beneath the conflict. This felt different. Rogue sat immobile, and this was even more alarming. She always – _always_ – gave as good as she got.

Kurt reached a hand across the table, but she jerked away, then stood. "Excuse me," she said so softly that Remy could barely hear her. "Ah'm…Ah have to…excuse me," she repeated, and left in the opposite direction of Logan.

Kurt, Kitty, and Remy all moved to follow. _Not all of you, _projected the professor sharply. _She'll feel cornered. Remy?_

He nodded and took off after her. Kitty and Kurt sat down. "What happened?" Kitty asked, still bewildered. "Why's Mr. Logan so mad? I don't understand."

The professor's face was grim. "I'm not sure he does, either." Then his face cleared as he reined in his thoughts. "But we'll be resolving it soon, I assure you."

*

*

*

*

*

She thought about heading to the woods, but there was a chance she would run into Logan out there, too, and so instead she took the back stairs to her room, then clambered out onto the roof. It was a precarious climb, and few of the students would chance it. But once you were up there, there was a nice flat patch with a view of both water and woods. She swore as her nylons snagged on a shingle. Perfect. The perfect end to a perfect day.

It was done, she thought miserably, pullinkg her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. Her friendship was Logan was finished. He despised her, couldn't stand the sight of her. Why on earth he had agreed to two Danger Room sessions each day? She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, forced herself to breathe deeply.

It wasn't as if it were unexpected. The flat, empty look in his eyes had been a long time coming. She remembered the first time he had looked – really looked – at her. Huddled on the floor of the Blackbird after she and Scott had gone up against Mystique, he had approached her.

"Where's your allegiance, kid? Us or them?"

She had been freezing, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering audibly. "If Ah don't say you, will Ah get thrown offa this jet?"

He had smiled at her then, and she wasn't so cold. Since that day, they had come to see how similar they were. Both loners. Both older than their ages, even if he had called her kid. She had come to rely on his protection, his gruff affection, his willingness to let her go off on her own. She had earned his respect. _The Rogue I know wouldn't take that offa anybody, _he had told her has she battled the personalities for control over her own mind. She had believed him, that she was strong enough to fight, and so she fought and won.But they both knew how bitter betrayal was, how deeply it could slice, and it forged another bond between them.

And then Apocalypse had used her, and his eyes weren't so kind. They were wary, as if she contained things he no longer wanted to see. And she did. Absorbing the X-Men, the Acolytes, and the Brotherhood had left her with a score of lives she didn't want running around her head. Hell, she wasn't sure she wanted her own life, much less Toad's, Magneto's, and the rest.

Since then, she had run through scenario after scenario. How could she stop Apocalypse? How could she undo the damage she had wrought? Every time, the answer was the same. She couldn't undo it. She couldn't fix it. She had unwittingly betrayed them all. Destroyed the professor's dream. 

Logan, she was sure, would have fought Mastermind off. 

Once she had shoved Mystique over the cliff, Logan's eyes had changed again. They were cooler. Harder. It hadn't happened all at once, the distance between them. But as the days wore on, as the magnitude of what she did sunk in, he kept a careful fixed distance from her. He didn't want to be around her – the easy camaraderie had vanished – but he didn't trust her enough not to keep an eye on her. He expected her to snap again, lash out at someone else and hurt them, too.

But in a strange way, New York was the worst, because there really wasn't anyone to blame but herself. No one had forced her to do anything. It wasn't some sort of impulsive revenge. It was just Rogue, letting everyone down once again. And the look on Logan's face when he had taken in the scene at Remy's house made it clear exactly how far she had fallen. Suddenly, she was a silly teenager like never before. A silly teenager who couldn't handle herself. Did he think she was running away? Didn't he understand that she needed a break from the concerned looks and the gentle questions, the constant offers "to talk about things"? They didn't want to talk, she told herself, any more than she wanted to. They were merely keeping up appearances. And her appearance at Remy's obliterated Logan's respect for her, completely. Standing half-dressed in the enemy's bedroom was a kind of betrayal, too.

She scrubbed her face with her hands, swallowed hard. Damn if she was going to cry over this. Her breathing hitched, and she didn't hear Remy come up behind her.

"You gonna catch yo' death o'cold, _chere._" His tone was light and conversational.

She let her gloved hands drop, shrugged. "Not such a bad idea."

He rolled his eyes. Apparently, soft and sympathetic wasn't the way to go here. "Shoulda figured you for a drama queen, all dat makeup." He sat down next to her, stretched out.

She shot a glare at him and he saw her eyes were brilliant with tears. "Ah like mah makeup."

"Oh, it's not bad. But I've seen you fresh out o'de shower, too. T'ink I like dat look better."

She narrowed her eyes. "You weren't lookin' at mah face."

"Was too! Well, mostly." He chuckled as she reached over to cuff him, then caught her hand.

"What are you doin'?

"Dat a rhetorical question, _non?_"

She pulled her hand away. "Ah don't need your pity," she said.

"Pity for what?" _Tell me where it hurts, chere. Can't make it better till you do. _"Ain't pity makin' me want t'hold your hand."

"Then what is it?" Her tone was wistful for a moment. "Why are you here, Remy?"

"Professor invited me. I'm between jobs right now…" As soon as the flippant words were out of his mouth, he knew they were wrong. "_Chere…"_

She scrambled to her feet. "How much did he offer you to stay?" she snapped. "Had to be pretty good money – Ah'm sure you've got lots of other _jobs_ to keep you busy." 

So that's what she thought of him. He wasn't surprised, really, and it wasn't that far off the mark. But it still stung. "We didn't really discuss numbers."

"That's not really a smart business move." She turned to leave.

"Wouldn't be, if it were business." He caught her hands again before she could head back down into the mansion. He was freezing, and thought longingly of the fireplace in the living room. But this needed settling. "It's not."

That stopped her short. "Ah don't understand."

"You ain't business. We've done that before – you on one side, me on de other. Didn't end well." He flashed back for a moment to the sight of Rogue trapped in the green plasma field of the Sentinels. "You ain't business," he repeated, willing her to comprehend.

She closed her eyes briefly. "But you said…"

"I said he invited me. An' he did. An' I said we didn't discuss numbers, 'cause we didn't. It wasn't an issue," he explained patiently, tugging her back down next to him. "I ain't here 'cause o'your professor. I'm here 'cause o'you. Dat all right?"

"Ah guess so." She sat, reluctantly.

"You guess so? _Dieu, chere_, you a hard woman." He slipped an arm around her. "You cold?"

"Yeah."

"You want t'go in?"

"No." They sat and watched the water crashing on the rocky beach below. "Ah was gonna be mean to you until you left," she confessed.

"Ain't dat what you doin, leavin' me out here to freeze?"

"Shut up, swamp rat." But there was a laugh in her voice. Then she sighed softly.

"You ready to talk about dinner now?"

"Nope."

"He was outta line."

"Let it lie, Remy."

"Why's it got you so upset?" he pressed.

"Why didn't you want Jeannie asking about your family?" she shot back. "It's complicated. And talking doesn't make it any better. So let it lie."

"Okay. But _chere_ – either we go inside, or you warm me up. It's cold out here."

"Inside," she said quickly, and stood up.

"Dat wasn't de answer I was hopin' for," he said, but got to his feet.

"You ain't gonna get that answer."

"Don't you trust me?" he complained.

"Not a bit." But her smile was real and her eyes, still brilliant, were no longer wet with tears.

"Good girl."

*

*

*

*

*

The rhythmic "thwock" of Logan slicing firewood told Storm exactly where to find him.

"That was quite a display at dinner," she said, gliding to the ground and landing gracefully.

"I'm not in the mood for a lecture, 'Ro." 

"I'm not here to give you one. Charles, however, may feel differently." 

"He wants to see me?"

"He wants to see all of the senior staff, yes. Shall we walk together?"

He gave the log a final swipe, neatly splitting it. "Sure."

They walked in silence for a few minutes through the richly colored leaves. "You're angry with her."

"Hell, yeah." He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say more, then merely jammed his hands into his jacket pockets.

"What happened wasn't her fault."

"Never said it was."

"Then why are you so cold to her?"

"You heard Chuck. How many times has he said we should let her work things out alone? That she _wanted_ to be left alone?" And so he had stepped back, forced himself to be content with keeping a watchful eye on her, convinced that the Rogue he knew would come back – fighting for every inch of progress, to be sure – but come back regardless. Instead, she had sunk deeper and deeper into the morass, faded away into some pale limp echo of herself. Standing idly by while she self-destructed was killing him. 

"He didn't say you should abandon her entirely."

"I didn't abandon her."

Her tone sharpened. "You're doing an excellent imitation of it." Busy refereeing a spat between Amara and Sam, she had missed the scene at dinner. Charles had filled her in later. But she had seen the look on Rogue's face. It was a heartbreaking combination of hurt and resignation, as if Logan's harshness was all she deserved.

"You remember when she came on board with us, Ro?"

She smiled despite herself. "I do. It took a great deal of courage and resourcefulness to fight off Mystique by herself. Is that what you expect of her now? To fight this off herself?"

"I expect her to try." He kicked uselessly at a small drift of leaves. "I expect her to want to."

"Logan," she began. He cut her off.

"She came to us and she had grit. She might have been a pain in the ass sometimes, but she had grit and steel and heart. I ain't seein' that now."

Realization flashed like lightning. "This isn't about Mystique, or even New York."

"Oh, I'm pissed about New York, all right."

"But that's not what tonight was about. You're angry because she's given up." It was an angle she hadn't considered. "You've hurt her," she said.

"I'm not trying to. But I'm done tiptoeing around her."

"She believes you have lost faith in her. Can you not see how damaging that is?" Perhaps even more than the damage Apocalypse and Mystique had wrought.

"This shouldn't be about me. It should be about her."

"Exactly." She pinned him with her eyes. 

They covered the remaining ground quickly, wordlessly. A few minutes later, they were in the Professor's office. Storm sat and accepted tea in a cup so thin it was almost translucent. Logan leaned back in a chair, one foot propped on the other knee, frustration palpable.

The professor waited until they were settled, then returned to his conversation with the Beast. "And you're certain there were no marks indicating self-mutilation, Hank?"

"None, Charles. Aside from her injuries from the fight, there was nothing."

Logan shot to his feet. "You never said she was cutting herself!"

"Because she's not," Xavier said calmly. "I didn't think things had deteriorated to that point, but Dr. McTaggert felt that Rogue was exhibiting so many other self-destructive behaviors that it would be prudent to check. I asked Hank to look for signs when he was examining her, just to be safe."

"It was a possibility?" He waved his hand. "Of course it was. Jesus, Chuck. Enough is enough."

"Yes, it is." The professor looked at him closely. "I understand your frustration with Rogue's lack of progress. But lashing out at her is not the solution."

"Neither is treatin' her like she's made of glass. We do that, we're confirming every crappy thing she's thought about herself. Tells her we can't look past what she's done, how she's changed." Remy's caustic words still burned in his ears. "We've been letting her sulk like a little kid. She isn't a kid anymore, and I'm done with that."

"Are you done with _her_? Because that is certainly the impression you gave Rogue tonight."

He stared at the carpet, uncomfortable. "I'll fix it." Hell if he knew how, but he would.

"Please do. Your opinion matters to her, Logan. Knowing that you have not given up on her…it could be the thing that ensures she does not give up on herself."

"I'll talk to her." 

"Thank you."

By the time Remy and Rogue returned to the living room, it was largely deserted. Scott and Jean were talking near the fireplace, heads together. Kurt was channel-surfing while Kitty seethed beside him. "Come on, Kurt! Pick something and stick with it!" She made a grab for the remote, but Kurt ported to the other side of the sofa.

"No way. This is the third remote we've gone through this month, thanks to you! Just a few more – Rogue!"

Kitty looked up. Rogue had obviously been back to the room, having traded her dinner clothing for a more comfortable pair of grey training pants and a long-sleeved black shirt.

"You okay?" she mouthed, and Rogue gave a small nod.

"What y'all watchin'?" Remy asked, steering Rogue to the second couch. He gave her a gentle shove into the cushions, then perched himself on the arm of the sofa. She moved to get up, and he stretched his legs crosswise across her lap, blocking her escape. Sulking, she settled herself into the cushions, and Remy smiled pleasantly.

Kitty pouted. "Everything – for, like, three seconds a channel."

"Hey – it's not like there's anything good on," Kurt shot back.

"Ugh. I'm going to bed. Come on, Kurt, we've got a math test tomorrow."

He looked suspiciously at Remy. "Nah. I'll stay a little longer. You turning in soon, Rogue?"

"In a little bit," she said. "You go ahead, Kurt. Really."

Kitty tugged at his hand. "Come on, Kurt. Besides, weren't you supposed to call Amanda tonight?"

He looked momentarily pained. "I'll see her in class tomorrow."

"And she'll want to know why you didn't call. Let's _go_." She tugged at him again, then decided that a change in tactics might be more effective. She leaned in and whispered fiercely, "Give them some privacy, _now_, fuzzball, or I'll fry every electronic device you own for the next year."

He looked at her in horror. "You wouldn't," he whispered back.

"Watch me." She crossed her arms over her chest.

Kurt turned sullenly to the couple on the couch. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Guess you will," Remy smiled. "G'night, Kitty-cat."

"Goodnight, Remy. Goodnight, Rogue."

"Night, guys."

Kitty pushed a grumpy-looking Kurt out of the room, and a few minutes later, Jean and Scott left, too wrapped up in each other to pay Rogue and Remy much attention.

"Five bucks says they're not goin' to separate bedrooms," he commented.

"That's a sucker's bet, Cajun. Ah'm no sucker. Now would you get offa me?" She shoved at his legs.

He stood and retrieved the remote, then sprawled next to her. She shifted away from him slightly, hoping he wouldn't notice.

He did, but didn't comment. "Little brother's real protective, _chere_."

"Ah guess. He doesn't need to be."

"Nice, though. Lotta people here lookin' out for you."

She shrugged. "Did you want to start talkin' about families? Ah thought that was off limits."

"Not off limits. Jus' not much fun."

"So Ah can ask you about it?"

"Askin' don' mean I'll answer."

She considered. "That's fair."

He switched the TV to a cooking channel. "Dis okay?"

"Sure. But Emeril bugs me."

"No Emeril, den. You like t'cook?"

"Yeah. We take turns during the week. Kitty's bad news on her own, so we pair up."

"She's a good friend," he said.

She groaned. "We startin' this again? Why'd you leave New Orleans?"

"Who says I left?"

"You're here, aren't you?"

"Don' mean I won't go back."

She shook her head. "No. You won't."

"You get that when you pulled my memories?" His voice tightened.

She looked at him helplessly. "It's not like that."

"Like what? Why bother askin', Rogue, if you've already got the answers in your head?"

She didn't say anything, just stared at her hands in their black leather.

He hated that he wasn't able to bite back the anger fast enough, and he hated that she sat there and took it. "An' quit looking like I kicked your puppy. It's a fair question, seein' how it's my memories."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Then explain it to me. Can't you just look at my memories, see everything about me?" He didn't think so. If that were the case, she wouldn't have let him in the same room as her.

She shook her head again. "Ah could, but Ah don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Too many memories already." She paused. "Ah got bits when Ah absorbed you, but most of it Ah just kinda…lock up. It's too hard, knowing all that about someone. Ah don't just see people's lives, like a movie. Ah _live_ 'em. It's just too much. So Ah try to lock it all up as fast as Ah can." The words tumbled out in a rush, and she looked at him desperately. "Once Ah lock 'em up – it hurts to bring 'em back out. It takes so much concentration. So Ah leave them there, till the professor helps me go through 'em."

"So the bits…"

"They just kind of float around. But they're small. Like when you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eyes. They can clutter things up, but they don't…they don't hurt."

"So what did you see when you absorbed me?"

She seemed to turn inward. "A boy…Etienne." Her mouth curved slightly, and she didn't see the pain flash across Remy's face. "That's a strange name for a boy. Something sweet…doughnuts…with powdered sugar."

"Beignets," he murmured.

Rogue continued as if she hadn't heard. "A song…_parlez-nous à boire, non pas de mariage_…" she sang off-key, but fondly. Remy grinned. "A fight…there was a fight about something...The Guild?" She turned to him, eyes darkly troubled. "That was bad. What's the Guild?"

He snapped back to himself. "Now _chere_, you can't be askin' after all my secrets." He tried to keep his voice light. He almost made it.

"Why not?"

"Secrets make us human." He tugged on her arm until she leaned against him, albeit stiffly, then tangled the tips of his fingers in her hair. "Fun to hear you sing, though."

She decided to let it go, for the now. He wasn't the sort you sat down and interrogated. _Let it lie_, she repeated to herself. "You were mad, before. When you thought Ah'd looked at all your memories."

"Not mad."

"Remy." She elbowed him lightly, and he chuckled.

"Well, mebbe a li'l mad. Dat's a scary power you have, _chere_."

"Yeah. Cause blowin' things up just by touching 'em ain't scary at all."

"Dem's jus' t'ings. Dey don' matter." He traced a finger down her arm.

"Quit it," she said irritably.

"What?"

"Quit touching me."

"You don' like?" He stopped, but left his hand resting lightly on her arm.

"First of all, we're talking about how you blow things up by touching them, _while_ you're touching me. It's a little creepy."

"I can't charge live things,_ chere_."

"Well, that's a comfort," she said dryly. "Second, you just said mah power was scary—"

He cut her off. "Your power. Not you." He turned her to face him. "They ain't de same."

"It's mah skin…" she looked away.

"It ain't _you_. Get dat clear." Shielding his hands with her hair, he tilted her chin up. "If you don't want me touchin' you cause you ain't interested, dat's one t'ing. But if it's cause you scared you might zap me, den get over it. I like touchin' you, Rogue. Don' really want t' stop."

She arched that brow again. "And what makes you think Ah like it?"

"Do you?" 

"Ah don't know yet."

"Or you don' wanna say," he smirked, just a little.

"You're an ass." But she turned and leaned back against him again. "Can we just watch TV, please?"

He smiled, and slid one hand to the curve of her waist. "Anyt'ing you say, _chere_."

"You move that hand any more, Cajun, you're gonna draw back a bloody stump." She tried to ignore the swooping sensation in her stomach.

"Anyt'ing you say, _chere_," he repeated, and smiled into her hair.

They watched TV for a while, until her breathing slowed and her head drooped on his chest. "You fallin' asleep?"

"No," she lied. "You were wrong, by the way."

"'Bout what?" He liked the way her voice sounded, blurred and husky with sleep.

"Secrets. It's the tellin', Remy. Tellin' makes us human." She snuggled in closer to him and fell asleep again.

*

*

*

*

*

He had promised Charles he would fix it. And he would. Just as soon as he could find the words, and as soon as he found Rogue. He assumed she had gone up to the roof after dinner, but it was so cold outside that he suspected she wouldn't stay there all night. He decided to check the kitchen. He had found her there enough nights, drinking coffee and devouring something – anything – chocolate, that he figured the odds were in his favor. But the kitchen was empty, and a noise from the living room caught his ear. 

Then a scent. Two scents. He stalked in and found Rogue fast asleep, head on Gambit's chest. He moved to hit the lights.

"No need, _homme_." The Cajun's voice was low. "Don' wake her up. She don' get to sleep all peaceful dat often, from what I hear."

Logan growled softly. "Get her up. And get her back to her room. And then get back to yours."

"Dere a curfew here?"

"No. But there's rules about beds and how many people are in 'em."

"Dis ain't a bed. And I didn't figure you the type to be concerned about rules. Thought that was Cyclops' job."

Logan growled again, louder this time.

Rogue stirred. "Remy? Remy, it's late…" she mumbled, pushing herself to sitting. "Ah gotta…" she shook her head blearily, then caught sight of Logan, and immediately closed her eyes again. "Oh, hell."

"Watch your mouth, kid."

She bristled and glared, an echo of the old Rogue. "Oh, you're a fine one to talk."

"I'm a fine one to tell you to get your ass to bed. Alone."

"Logan!" She went scarlet.

"Five a.m., kid. And –"

Remy cut in smoothly. "She'll be there. Five a.m." He stood gracefully, despite the hours of sitting still so that Rogue could sleep. "C'mon, _chere._ Let's get you tucked in." And he led a stunned Rogue past a more-stunned Wolverine. There'd be hell to pay for all of this, he was sure. But it was, in his opinion, well worth the price.


	17. Lessons

Morning came too early by far, in Rogue's opinion. Of course, it came at the same time it did every morning, but on the heels of last night, the insistent buzz of her clock seemed all the more vicious. Kitty, earphones on even in sleep, was dead to the world. She lay and listened to the alarm, debating whether she should just pull the covers over her head and blow off the session with Logan. It was tempting – she doubted that his opinion of her could get any lower, especially after catching her with Remy last night.

They hadn't done anything wrong, she reminded herself. The rule at the Institute was that as long as you made it to class and training sessions on time, and you kept up with school and chores, you could pretty much keep the hours you wanted. And if she missed this session with Logan, she realized, he'd be quick to pull that privilege, too. With a groan, she flipped back the duvet and rolled out of bed.

Coffee, she thought grimly, pulling on her favorite training clothes – black pants, black tank top, black gloves. With only Logan running the sim, she wouldn't have to worry about accidentally touching anyone during the session. But the rest of the mansion was a different story, so she grabbed a battered gray sweatshirt, zipping it up as she stepped out into the still, quiet hallway. She checked her watch. 4:38. If she moved, there would be just enough time to grab a cup of coffee and still get to the Danger Room under the wire. 

She swung into the kitchen, thinking she'd be alone, and stopped short at the sight of Logan already at the island, hunched over a steaming mug.

"Sorry," she said, ready to back out of the room.

"Sit down. You runnin' from me, now?" 

"No. Ah just didn't think anyone'd be here," she mumbled, taking a seat at the opposite end of the island. She wasn't prepared for this. She had been counting on a few minutes to get her head together before she had to face Logan on what was undeniably his turf. Now, seeing him before she had composed herself left her unsettled and tentative.

He stood and poured another cup of coffee, then slid it down the smooth granite to her. Black. When she had arrived at the Institute, she had taken it with enough cream and sugar that Logan's head ached just remembering it. He had teased her mercilessly. _What if you need coffee and there's none of that crap around? Then you're screwed. Always better to make do with the essentials._ He had told her the same thing when he taught her to drive stick shift, as she ground through the transmission on the Jeep. _Better to know how to do it, just in case you have to. _He smiled to himself, remembering the look on Scott's face when he went to change the oil later that week.

They sat in the pre-dawn chill, silent and preoccupied. He didn't know how to do this, Logan thought. He didn't apologize, he didn't explain, and he definitely didn't have heart-to-hearts with teenage girls. Even Rogue. Especially Rogue. She might have been his hands-down favorite at the mansion, but there were limits. And these were just things the Wolverine did not do. Still, what choice did he have? Either they settled this, or she would take off again, permanently this time. He flexed his hands in frustration, then drained his coffee. 

"Let's go." Without a backward glance, he strode out of the kitchen towards the elevators that would take them to the Danger Room. 

Rogue followed, quickly topping off her mug and bringing it with. She doubted there was enough caffeine in the state to get her through this, but it never hurt to try.

They arrived at control room, and she tossed her sweatshirt on a nearby chair, then stripped off her watch and the small silver earrings she had worn to bed.

"Necklace too," he growled.

She touched it lightly. "Ah'll leave it on, thanks."

"You know the rules. No jewelry in the sims. It gets in the way."

She lifted her chin. "You think if we go up against the Brotherhood this afternoon, Blob's gonna wait until Ah take off my jewelry before he starts trying to flatten me like a pancake?" she asked, tucking the pendant into her shirt.

"Suit yourself. Just don't whine when it gets caught on something." 

"Ah don't whine," she snapped. 

He smiled to himself again. No, she didn't. And it was about time she got her back up over something, rather than acting like a mouse.

"Whatever. You're not running a regular sim today."

"What do you mean?"

"You're going up against me."

"You really are pissed, huh?" she muttered inaudibly. 

He heard her anyway. "Didn't I tell you to watch your damn mouth?"

She bit back an angry retort. "Fine. Let's go." She turned to put her sweatshirt back on.

"Leave it."

"But…"

"Leave it."

"Ah don't want to hurt you."

He snorted. "You're not even gonna get close enough to try, kid," he said as they headed to the entrance of the danger room.

"Oh really?" If it hadn't been so early, she might have enjoyed the challenge, but now she was just annoyed.

He stopped outside the door. "Tell you what. You take me in there – hell – you even manage to get a bare hand on me, and we'll cancel this afternoon's session."

Her eyes sparked. "Ah could use a nap," she said.

"I'm sure you could. We'll be talking about that later," he added ominously. "Do we have a deal?"

She looked at him, wary. Another of his long-ago lessons was never to take a bet until you knew the stakes. "And if Ah lose?"

"Oh, you're gonna lose. It's not an if."

"_If_ Ah lose?" she pressed.

He considered for a moment. "I don't want to see a repeat of last night. Ever."

"Then close your eyes," she countered. "That's not your place, Logan. Try again."

"Fine." As much as he loathed Gambit, it was nice to see her standing up for herself. "I don't want to hear you bitching about the extra sessions. I don't want to hear that anyone else has heard you bitching about the extra sessions. You suck it up and do it until I say you're done. I'll even give you a head start. Deal?"

She tossed her hair back. "Deal. Let's get this over with."

They stepped into the Danger Room, and she winced. The sim was a maze of alleys and rubble, a nightmare version of the scene the team had found outside the club. Rain slammed down in sheets, smoking debris littered the landscape, and shrieking sirens assaulted her ears. Momentarily disoriented, she turned, seeking out Logan. He was gone.

"What the hell is this?" she called out. "This is your way of teaching me a lesson? It sucks, Logan."

A clap of thunder had her jumping, and she took off running. Burning junkheaps loomed everywhere, and the shadows cast by pouring rain, random lightning, and weak streetlights left her confused and off-balance. _Focus,_ she told herself. _Get oriented._ She whirled, looking for a suitable place to make a stand and figure out what to do next, and found herself crashing to the ground as Logan knocked her legs out from under her with a well-placed kick. "It's what you make of it, kid," he told her as she scrambled to her feet. "Have I ever taught you anything different?"

Her eyes darted from side to side, looking for something to use as a weapon. He didn't have the claws out yet, she saw, and took that as a good sign. She spied a piece of lumber lying nearby. As they circled, she gauged the distance to it, and slowly worked her way around. It wasn't much, but it would buy her some time. 

Logan threw a punch and she stepped neatly out of the way, then ducked the follow-up kick and dove for the wood, grabbing it and rolling away from Logan as he tried to tackle her.

"You're joking, right?" he growled, as she brandished it. "It's a piece of wood, kid. Get real." So quickly she almost missed it, the claws were out and in again. The meaning was clear, and she knew the lumber would be reduced to kindling if she used it like a club. She glanced around again. There was a huge pile of debris behind her, easily three or more feet taller than Logan. She looked at the wood again. Useless as a club, but as a lever…

She waited an instant too long. He rushed her again, knocking her back against the pile. She kicked out both legs as hard as she could, earning her a few precious seconds, and she scrambled up the heap on all fours. He grabbed at her leg and she tossed a brick directly at his face, forcing him to let go. The mountain of rubble was shifting, becoming unstable, and she used it to her advantage, throwing herself over the top and crashing back down the other side, holding desperately to the lumber and wedging it under a large piece of concrete. She threw her weight against it, and levered the hunk of cement to the side. 

With a low rumble, the pile came tumbling down, and she saw Logan lose his footing and tumble under the bricks and debris.

"Logan?" There were sirens approaching and the sound of the storm, but nothing from the mound of junk in front of her. The rain was still pouring. She had never figured out how they had managed to pull off lousy weather in a holographic room. Maybe Storm had something to do with it. 

She shoved her dripping hair out of her face and, gripping a jagged hunk of concrete, worked carefully around the collapsed pile, picking her way past rocks and assorted debris. There was nothing. "Ah think you owe me a nap," she called, straightening.

"Wrong, kid," came his voice, as her feet were jerked out from under her again. She lost her grip on the makeshift weapon and went sprawling. "Don't be so cocky."

She rolled on her back as he pinned her, grinning. "Not bad," he said conversationally as she struggled to break free. "Just not enough."

"Not done," she gasped, and brought a knee up hard and fast. He grunted, and his grasp loosened enough to let her slip one hand out. She tried to pull the glove off with her teeth, but he caught her wrists again with one hand, extended his claws on the other, and sank them into the floor inches from her head.

"Like I said. Not enough. You give?"

"Give," she panted.

He retracted the claws and sprung to his feet, holding out a gloved hand for her.

She ignored it and pushed her way up to sitting, then standing, still breathing hard. "What the hell was that?"

"End simulation," he called. Instantly, the rain stopped, the landscape melted away, and they were left in a sterile steel room. Then he turned to her. "That was you getting your ass kicked."

She started to protest, and he cut her off. "No whining, remember?"

They were both soaked to the skin. He shucked off his blue sweatshirt and wrung out some of the extra water. She didn't look like a mouse now, he noted with some amusement. She looked like a drowned rat, and he took momentary pity on her. "We're done in here for now. Go dry off and meet me in the control room to debrief." He headed out, leaving Rogue aching, bewildered, and seething in the echoing room.

She rejoined him quickly, with hair still damp and wearing sweats with the Institute logo on them. 

"Nice outfit." Logan was wearing the same. He handed her a bottle of water. "What did you do wrong?"

"Snuck out and went to New York, apparently." she snapped.

"Yeah. But what did you do wrong in the sim?"

If he didn't hate her, she thought, it would almost be like old times. Meticulous debriefing, where he led her, step by step, through the sim, pointing out where she had faltered, where she had executed something particularly well. If he didn't hate her, of course, which he did.

"Can't you just tell me?" She flopped into one of the rolling chairs.

He smirked and sat down as well, dwarfing the seat. "I could, but I'm not the one training."

"Ah thought Ah had you. Ah didn't." She wrenched the cap off the water bottle, took a swig.

"No, you didn't. But that wasn't where things went wrong."

"Care to enlighten me?" Tiredness and irritation made her tone waspish.

"Why didn't you take off your gloves before you went in?"

"Huh?"

"I told you the deal was to get a bare hand on me. But you went in with your gloves on, and you didn't even try to take 'em off until I had you pinned. And then it was too late."

"Ah could've hurt you," she protested.

"So? I'll heal. That's your mistake, Rogue. It's the same one you make in every single sim you run. You hesitate. It costs you, every time."

She shook her head. "That's not fair. Ah could hurt someone on the team."

"I'm not talking about when you're with the team."

She froze in the middle of taking a drink. "So this is all about New York, then." 

"This is about making sure you can protect yourself." She folded her arms and huffed out a breath. "You need to work on hand-to-hand."

"Ah had you!"

Christ, she was stubborn. It made him strangely proud. "No, you didn't. You buried me under a bunch of bricks, kid, which was good thinking. But you didn't take me out."

"Would have, if you didn't have a healing factor. First rule of being a girl – if you want to take a guy out, knee him in the balls." She tilted her head and smiled sweetly, her best imitation of the southern belle she had never been.

"If you're trying to fight off an over-eager prom date, sure. Or if you go up against Gumbo, cause you'll cause instant brain death. But a knee to the balls isn't fatal, kid. Anyone who's serious isn't going to stop just cause you kick him there. And if that's your entire bag of tricks, we shoulda been doing this a long time ago." They should have been practicing this anyway, he mused. Her mutation might protect her most of the time, but it was the exceptions that worried him.

Outrage had her straightening, scowling even more. Vertical creases appeared between her lowered eyebrows. "Ah got my licks in!"

"It wasn't enough."

"And this was just to prove that? Ah'm fine on hand to hand," she said obstinately, stripping off a glove and fluttering her bare fingers at him. "Remember?"

"I remember. You need to work on hand-to-hand. And without the team."

"You're pulling me?" Disbelief was chased by resignation. "More consequences, huh?"

It was painful to watch her shrink back into herself, watch the indignant spark in her eyes fade away. It was painful to watch it happen so quickly and so completely that it was as if someone had cut the power to the room. And the pain infuriated him. 

He growled with impatience. "Oh, come off it. Nobody's pulling you from the team."

"So then, why?" She gave a small, defeated shrug, and his temper cracked like crazed glass. He shot out of the chair, began to circle the room.

"Why? Because I said so. Because I took you down before you could think to get your gloves off, and I could have given you a haircut while I did it. Because those guys at the club knew how to get around your skin. Because you had to rely on _Gambit_ to save you. Because you might have woken up someplace less friendly." He paused. "Because someone came after you, kid, and I couldn't stop it."

Astonishment had her wide-eyed. "Logan…" she began.

"No. You let me finish. I've kept quiet, and I've left you alone, because you wanted it that way. But I stood in that alley and I smelled your blood, Rogue, and now I am _done_ with being quiet." 

He looked straight at her, then. For the first time in months, he looked her straight in the eyes and held her gaze, and there was nothing neutral about it. Anger, frustration, challenge, and something darkly unrecognizable mixed together and drew a bead on her.

"You're done with me," she said uncertainly.

The sad echo of Xavier's words stopped him short. "No," he said. "Not by a long shot. And don't interrupt me." He crossed the room in two strides and took her by the arms, fighting the urge to shake her until her teeth rattled. "Don't you get it? Someone's coming after you, and we don't have a clue who or why. But they'll try again, kid. They weren't amateurs. It wasn't random. They did their research, and they watched you, and they failed because of dumb fucking luck. Because your new boyfriend happened to be around."

"He's not my boyfriend," she said, fastening on to the only part of his tirade she could quarrel with.

"Didn't I _just say_ not to interrupt? They'll come after you again. I know that. I _know_ that. I'll do everything I can to protect you, but it won't be enough if you can't protect yourself. If you won't. I need you to learn to fight without your skin, Rogue. Without the team. Because we will always back you up, but I need to know you can protect yourself. I need to know you want to." He did shake her now, but gently. "You have gotta get past this, kid. Apocalypse, Mystique…all of it. It happened, and it's shitty, and it's in the past. It's time to get your goddamn head back in the game."

"Ah can't."

"Can't, or won't? Because if it's can't, kid, I will help you. All of us will. But if it's won't…" He lost the words, started again. "Don't let it be won't, kid. I taught you better than that." He let go of her arms, waited.

She stared at the ground, silent.

"Hey." His voice was rough, and she looked up at him. "I am not done with you. I won't ever be done with you. I promise you that."

God, how she wanted to believe him. "That's not how you acted," she whispered. 

"What did you expect? You wanted us to leave you alone. You demanded it."

"Ah needed some space." She couldn't meet his eyes, just kept staring at the floor, wishing she could pull a Kitty and phase through it. 

"No," he said. "You wanted to punish yourself. And when we gave you that space, you figured we were punishing you, too."

She didn't respond for a moment. Then, so quietly he could barely hear her, "Ah can't fix it."

"Nobody's expecting you to, kid. At least, not by yourself. That's why we're a team."

She gave a strangled half-sob, half-laugh, finally looked up at him. "Ah swear to God, Logan, if you give me that crap about 'there's no I in team'…"  
He chuckled. "I'll leave that to One-Eye. But what happened wasn't your fault. When are you gonna start getting that?"

"Mystique was. Ah killed her, Logan."

"Yeah," he said carefully. "You did. But you didn't mean to."

"She's still dead."

"She is." He was weary, suddenly. "I'm not saying it's small, Rogue, because it isn't. You'll carry it with you for the rest of your life. But there's a difference between carrying it and being crushed by it."

"You speakin' from experience?"

He met her eyes again. "Yeah," he said. "And I can tell you, from experience, that you have to keep going, or that's exactly what will happen."

"Does it ever get lighter?" It was like living in the Arctic, she thought, and hearing about the sun.

"It never sits comfortable, if that's what you're asking. But you get used to the weight of it. You compensate, I guess. You change to make it part of you."

"And that's why you're angry. Because Ah changed."

He rounded on her. "Hell, I expected that. But you quit on me, kid. It was like you were drowning, and you wouldn't let anyone else help you. You wouldn't let me help you." He shook his head. "I had to sit on the shore and watch you just go under. Do you know what that's like, to watch that?"

A smile ghosted her face. "You should see the view from the water."

"You wouldn't let me. So I got angry, instead." He shrugged. "I'm good at angry."

"No kidding." She bit her lip. "And now?"

"Now we keep going."

Something in her loosened at his words, at the easy way he said "we." She knew the old familiarity was gone, but in its place was honesty, bright and hard, and more importantly, Logan. Her friend. She savored the word briefly, then took a deep breath, steeling herself for another dose of truth. "You're still mad about last night, aren't you?"

"Yeah. That's a different mad, though. I don't want to talk about it right now."

"But…"

"Jesus, kid. Haven't we had enough touchy-feely for one day? Let it go."

Relief made her bold. "He helped me, you know. You should be nicer to him."

Logan scrubbed a hand over his face, more exhausted than if he had been running sims through the night. "He's alive, isn't he?"

"Logan."

"Rogue," he mimicked, then scowled. Believe me, I've got a hell of a lot to say on the subject of you and Gumbo. Just not right now, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because you need to meet the professor in fifteen minutes, and you haven't eaten breakfast yet. Go and eat something, will you?" She knew his tone and knew not to push her luck. She stood and gathered her things.

"Hey?" she asked, tentative again. 

"Yeah?" He allowed a hint of exasperation he didn't really feel to color his voice.

She glanced at him through a curtain of hair, twisted her hands in their gloves. "Ah'm sorry. For worryin' you. For givin' up." 

"Don't apologize, kid," he said gruffly. "Just don't do it again." He gave her a gentle shove towards the door. "Go eat, dammit. Something healthy. You meet me back here at four, got it?"

She groaned, turned towards the door. "Got it."

A/N

See? Logan's not quite as mean as you all thought. Of course, there's still that little matter of the couch confrontation to be dealt with… 

Once again, I bail out on individual review responses. It's one-thirty a.m., and we're gearing up for a crazy busy week here. Still, I wanted to say thanks to all of you who are reviewing -- I really appreciate you taking the time, and I take them seriously. It's really tempting to e-mail y'all directly, because I usually have so many things I want to say, but I'm not sure if that's a breach of fanfic etiquette. Anyway, thanks.


	18. Motivations

She hesitated, then knocked on the carved oak door of the professor's study.

"Come in," he called.

Rogue entered, marveling as always at the quiet opulence. Nothing in the room screamed money, but the overall effect was one of elegant, exquisite taste. It suited the professor perfectly, but Rogue always felt garish and brazen. Out of place, which seemed to be par for the course.

"Good morning. Coffee?" the professor asked, already pouring. She took the delicate cup and saucer, banded with gold, and brushed a gloved tip along the graceful curl of the handle. 

"Thanks."

He took in her appearance as she drank. Her customary hard façade was missing this morning, he noted. Her hair, normally dried to a blunt straightness, fell in haphazard curls around her face, and she wore none of the usual makeup. Typically, she was all nervous energy, so tightly held that she nearly vibrated. The last few months, she had given him the impression of almost losing that hold, of currents of anguish that, allowed free, would lash anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby. This morning, though, that crackling tension seemed to have eased slightly. 

"I take it your session with Logan went well?"

She started to speak, then seemed to think better of it. "It was fine," she said eventually.

He lifted an eyebrow. "That's an unusual description. I'm not sure I've heard any of the students refer to a session in quite that manner before. And your commentary is typically much more colorful."

"It's too early to be colorful," she muttered.

"Ah, yes. Would it be easier for you if we met in the evening?" They had always worked together in the mornings. The mental toll of keeping the personalities in check during the day usually left her unable to focus if they met later, but he knew she would have a long day ahead as well. "It's really up to you."

"Nah. Better to do it now. Going back-to-back -- you and another Danger Room session -- after a full day at school?" She shook her head. "It's just better to do it now."

He looked at her closely. "You're certain?"

She drained the rest of the coffee. "Yeah."

"I believe that we were working on Sabretooth." He didn't consult the file in front of him. He didn't need to. The sight of Rogue reliving the horrors of Creed's childhood weren't easily forgotten. Even Jean had been severely shaken by the mere psychic echoes of the sessions. "We can choose someone else for today."

She shook her head. "Ah want him done," she said roughly, slamming the cup down. "Ah want him gone."

"He won't be gone, Rogue. We've discussed that. Integrating the psyches means that you connect your own mind with the shade of his. Our work here draws off the most vivid memories and experiences, so that the connection is not so volatile, so draining, and it allows you to remain the one in control. 

"Ah still don't understand. You took them out before, when Ah lost control. Why can't we just do that again?"

"Because that very nearly destroyed your mind," he said gently. "As soon as you absorb a person, they become a part of you. Your brainwaves, your synaptic pathways -- even your DNA -- they all change, for a short while. Ripping them out forcefully also tears away a piece of you. And I like you far too much, Rogue, to risk your life or your sanity in that manner again." He smiled at her.

She returned it weakly. "So Ah'm pretty much doomed to a life of Sabretooth snarlin' at me in ma own head?"

"It will fade in time." He hoped. These were all theories he and Hank had devised after Rogue had lost control of her powers. There were no guarantees, he reminded himself. 

"Well, the sooner the better," she said, and squared her shoulders. "Let's go."

He wheeled himself around so that he was directly in front of her. He took her gloved hands in his, lightly. "Visualize him in your mind. Do you see him?"

Her voice was tight. "Big and uglier than homemade sin," she said.

_Open your mind to me, Rogue. I can be more effective that way._

With an effort, she relaxed her mental shields enough so that she could feel the professor, a gentle, supportive pressure. _Ah can't do any more._

"That's fine," he soothed. He spoke aloud, unwilling to tax the connection more than necessary. For him, telepathic conversations were as natural as spoken ones. But for Rogue, it diverted focus. "You're doing beautifully. Now picture yourself. Your hands are bare. You are comfortable and safe. He is no larger than you, Rogue. In your mind, he is smaller. This is your mind. He is merely an interloper."

"He's a pissed-off interloper," she said through gritted teeth. Already, beads of sweat had sprung along her hairline.

"Take his hand."

In her mind's eye, she reached out for Sabretooth's clawed hand. He couldn't physically hurt her, she reminded herself. _Come on, you mangy thing. Give it here._

_Bite me, bitch._

She hissed. _I said, give it here._ And steeling herself, she clasped his hand.

The contact, the transfer of memories, had her psychic self reeling.

"I can't hold it, professor!" Her panic crescendoed, her shout turning to a wail as she struggled for control. 

"Focus. You can do it. I'm right here, Rogue."

Sabretooth roared in fury, and Rogue did too. He tried to drag his hand away, but she clamped her grip down. "Dammit! Stay still!"

The images bombarded her -- chained to an old car in the harsh Canadian winter, rank animal hides the only protection against the biting cold, vicious beatings, starved and then taunted with meals, only to be given a scrap of raw, maggot-infested meat. Her stomach recoiled, her head whirled, and she slumped, breaking the contact with the psyche.

"Holy crap," she breathed. She used her few remaining shreds of energy to keep from falling out of the chair. "How long?"

"A little more than seven minutes," he said.

"That's all?"

"That's an improvement. You did quite well." He studied her. She was ashen, sweat pouring off her face. Her eyelids fluttered. "You did very well."

"Ah feel like Ah was hit by a truck." She leaned forward, tucked her head between her knees.

"I'm sure you do. I wish that I could help you more," he said, regretful. "Your mind's defenses make it hard for me to act directly."

"No," she protested, sitting up again. "You do help. Ah can feel you there, kinda giving me a boost. It helps." She sat for a few minutes, trying to slow her breathing, to stop the tremors, to swallow down the bile. "God, it hurts. How does somethin' in mah head make mah whole body hurt?"

"Because what you're doing takes tremendous energy, Rogue. And I suspect it has much to do with how your powers work."

"That's not much help then, is it? Cause we don't really know how mah skin works."

"Dr. McCoy and I have been theorizing about that, actually. We suspect that your abilities are a combination of the physical and the psionic. That's the principle we're applying here."

"Meanin' what, exactly?"

"Your skin's ability to absorb is fixed, much like Scott's eyes. There is no toning down or modulating his optic blast, no way to temper the power. The only way to stop the beam is through external measures -- shutting his eyes, wearing his glasses or visor."

"And mah skin's like that. Always on." Her voice was flat. This wasn't news, she reminded herself. The professor had told her early on that he couldn't cure her skin. "So Scott gets visors, Ah get gloves."

"Yes, but Scott's powers will always be managed through artificial, physical means. It is my hope that you can learn to manage yours mentally."

She raised her eyes to him, exhausted and stunned. "Are you saying we could fix my skin?"

"I believe you could, with the proper training, stop your mind from reflexively triggering your absorption powers."

He saw it bloom across her face, a slow unfurling of hope. "Well then, no offense, but why are we wastin' time with this stuff?" 

"Because you'll need to have every ounce of mental strength you can summon. If you're expending energy trying to prevent the psyches from taking over, you'll be unable to focus." He smiled at her again, squeezed her hands gently. "I promise you, Rogue. As soon as we have the personalities under control -- integrated or better contained, we'll start working on this."

"Then let's get back to work," she said simply. "No sense wasting time."

They worked for another half-hour, each episode leaving her progressively weaker. Finally, Charles stopped it.

"That's enough for today."

"But Ah can keep going," she protested feebly. "Just gimme a minute."

"I know you're eager to increase the rate of integration, Rogue, but you've had enough for one day." She was pale and trembling, but her hands gripped the arms of the chair resolutely. "I'm telling Logan to cancel the afternoon sessions."

"You can't. He'll think Ah complained."

"I will tell him it was my decision. Besides, I had thought things were better between you. You seemed…more at ease…when you came in."

She shifted, uncomfortable. "It's hard to explain."

He didn't press. "It's a rare thing for Logan to worry so. I imagine that sensation was very difficult for him."

She was silent, and he changed the subject. "Do you want to continue working on Sabretooth? Or should we switch to someone less…challenging?"

"No. Ah want to finish him. He takes up a lot of space, y'know?"

"That's fine. Who should we deal with next?"

"Someone easy. Jean, maybe?"

"I don't think you'll find integrating Jean altogether simple," he said dryly. "What about Scott?"

"No," she said. "Not Scott."

"Perhaps Jamie, then?"

"Jamie'd be good."

He hated to bring it up, but he wanted to prepare her. "What about Mr. LeBeau?"

"Remy?"

"Yes. Does he…take up a great deal of space?"

She flushed. "Not too much. It's fine. Ah'd like…Ah'd like to leave him for a while," she said, remembering the conversation in the living room the night before. He had secrets. She wanted to respect that. "Not forever. Ah know Ah'll have to eventually," she said quickly. "Ah just want to leave him till later, okay?"

"Whatever you like. How are you feeling now?"

"Wiped out. But Ah'll be all right. Just don't expect a great result on that calculus test."

"Should I have been?"

"No. But this is a better excuse." She pushed out of the chair, still a little wobbly. "Ah'd better get ready for class."

"Yes. Good luck on your exam."

"Thanks." She opened the door, saw Storm waiting discreetly in the hallway. "Mornin'" she murmured, with a small wave. 

The slim, poised woman entered the study. "How did it go?" she asked.

"As well as could be expected. She's quite driven, you know."

"Yes." Storm handed him a slim file, her face troubled.

"I presume this is not good news."

"No. Evan contacted me this morning. There was an attack on the Morlocks late last night.

Charles straightened, alarmed. "Was he hurt? What of the rest of the group?"

"There are some minor injuries, but nothing too serious. Still, this is a new approach."

"Does Evan know who is responsible?"

"There have been rumors circulating of a new anti-mutant organization gaining strength in the city. They have been antagonizing the Morlocks, but this level of escalation was unexpected."

"What precipitated the attack, then? How great of a threat do they pose?"

"I'm not certain. I'd like to gather some more information, then go and see Evan in person. We may be able to assist him."

"That sounds like an appropriate course of action. Keep me informed."

She nodded and walked to the door, then stopped. "I miss him, Charles."

"I know. Perhaps he will come back to us, given time and freedom."

"Perhaps." 

*

*

*

*

*

Remy strolled to the kitchen, intent on a cup of coffee and finding Rogue. To his dismay, it was Logan in the kitchen, eating some sort of hash. The older man's eyes narrowed as he entered, but he said nothing, merely leaned against the counter and forked up another bite.

"_Bonjour._" Remy was curt. "You run her ragged dis mornin'?" He poked around until he found a mug, then poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Not your concern, bub."

Remy took an apple from a bowl on the island, rubbed it on his sleeve. "Tend to disagree, _homme_. Long as she wants me here, it's my concern."

"She ain't gonna want you here long." He scooped up the last bite of food, but didn't move from his seat at the island.

Remy smiled like a switchblade. "We'll see. She around?"

"The kids left for school already," he said grudgingly.

The smile vanished and his eyes flared. "Y'all let her go? With Dane still out there?"

"Cyclops and Jeannie took the whole crew. She's fine." Logan didn't mention he'd be heading over after breakfast.

"Any leads yet?" He passed by Logan and sat at the old pine table, tipping his chair back.

"No." Logan hated to admit it.

"I'll ask around," Remy said, crunching into the apple.

"We don't need your help. Don't want it, either."

"Your professor don't t'ink so. He figures Rogue's in trouble."

"We're fixing it."

"Yeah, you fixed things real nice last night."

Instantly, the claws were out, and Logan pushed away from the island. "I like to finish my breakfast before I start hacking people up, Cajun. But I'll make an exception in your case."

"Ease up," Remy snapped. He slammed the chair down and a charged deck appeared in his hand. "I ain't the one who made her cry."

Logan didn't retract the claws. "Yet. You will. I know your type."

"I ain't a type. I'm an original. One-of-a-kind."

"One-of-a-kind asshole, maybe. I don't see much original in you stalking Rogue."

"I ain't stalkin' her." 

"You were following her when she had her run-in with Dane. Kitty says she's seen you around the school, warning other guys off her. Seems like stalking to me."

Remy shrugged. "She's nice to watch. Got a pretty way of moving, dat _fille_ does."

Logan growled.

"Besides," Remy pointed out. "I did help her out of dat situation wit Dane. Don' a guy earn points for a rescue 'round here?"

"You really want to tally up points, smart-ass?"

Remy counted on his fingers. "One. Got her out of de club Friday. Two. Helped you track her down when she was in Tibet. Three. Warned off de guys who were threatenin' t'get her expelled. Don' t'ink much o'school, but she does. Seemed a shame, her gettin' booted jus' for bein' a mutant." He paused, then smiled coldly. "Four. Made her laugh after you kicked her in the gut last night. You gonna keep score, I t'ink dis Cajun doin' pretty well."

Logan pulled his claws in and crossed his arms. "One. Set her up in that mess with the Sentinels, so she ended up with Trask. Two. Worked for Magneto."

"Told you. Dat a job."

"Three. You've got no principles. You didn't work for Magneto because you thought he was right. You just wanted cash. Why wouldn't you sell Rogue out to the highest bidder?"

He straightened slowly, dangerously calm. "I wouldn't."

"And I should take your word on it?"

"You need me to give it? Didn't t'ink you'd put much trust in de word of a…an Acolyte." Was it possible they didn't know about the Guild, he wondered. "I won't do anyt'ing to harm her. Won't let anyone else, either. Dat include you."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Dat girl t'inks it okay you treated her like crap last night. She says it's complicated, but it ain't. She t'ink you hung de moon, so when you kick her around at dinner or while she's watching TV, or in some lame training session, she t'ink she deserve it. She don't. If you pissed 'bout me being here, take it up wit me. You pissed at her, sort it out. But don't you shut her down like dat again. She's been through enough."

"What, you're going to stand for her now?" Logan's snort made clear his opinion of Remy as knight-errant.

"Somebody needs to."

"No. Rogue needs to stand for herself. And if you had bothered to haul your ass out of bed before she left today, she might have told you that she did exactly that this morning. Or maybe she wouldn't. She doesn't owe you anything."

"Never said she did."

"I told Rogue this morning. I'll tell you now. I don't ever want to see a scene like last night again."

Remy laughed. "And what did de _fille_ say to that?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm telling you now."

"If somet'in else gonna happen wit me and de Rogue…dat's up to her. I'm always willing t'spend time wit' _une belle fille_."

"She's not some tramp you picked up at Mardi Gras."

"Dat she ain't," Remy said coolly. He downed the coffee, finished the apple, and tossed the core in the trash. "I got work to do."

"What kind of work?" he growled, suspicious.

"Work. Like you said, don't owe you anything, _homme_."

*

*

*

*

*

Rogue came home from school to find Remy sprawled on her bed playing solitaire.

"Just because there's no lock doesn't mean you get to come in without askin'," she muttered, dumping a battered messenger bag next to her desk.

"Missed you, too, _chere_. Long day?" She looked beat, he thought, like she had already gone several rounds and was gearing up for another. He scooped up the cards neatly and began shuffling out of habit.

"Long enough. Get offa mah bed." She sat on the floor and tugged off her boots.

"I could move over," he said, a mock leer on his face. "It'd be a tight fit, but I don't mind."

"Ah do. And you're wrinklin' the covers."

He sat up and smoothed out the delicately embroidered spread. Ivory silk with a complex pattern of orchids, lotus flowers, hummingbirds. "Not what I pictured for you,_ chere_. Thought it'd be all black."

"Have you met Kitty? Mah roommate? You think Ah was gonna get away with all black?"

He glanced at Kitty's side of the room, peony pink and crammed with stuffed animals. "See yo' point. Suits you, the more I look at it. Still," he continued, "just not what I expected."

"Logan brought it back for me. One of his trips. He said he was tired of hearin' me and Kitty bitch at each other."

The notion of Logan choosing Rogue's sheets irked him. "De Wolverine pick out your pajamas, too? That why he get so mad when he saw us last night?"

She looked at him, baffled. "That's the stupidest thing Ah've heard you say, _Gambit_, and that's sayin' somethin'."

"So you and him…" he trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable.

She raised that eyebrow again, putting him in place with a mere look. "Are complicated. But not that complicated. You jealous, swamp rat?" She smirked, pleased to have the upper hand for once.

"I don't get jealous," he said haughtily.

"This is what, then? Idle curiosity? You lookin' out for mah emotional well-bein'?" She started to move past him towards her closet, let out a yelp when he snagged her by the waist and pulled her onto the bed. 

"Just like to know what I'm getting into, dat's all." He tugged her forward so that she had no choice but to rest her hands on either side of him, propping herself up. He grinned at her, dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Right now, you're gettin' into trouble. Ah've got another training session in twenty minutes. Now let go." 

"But it's such a nice view," he protested, wrapping his arms snugly around her waist.

She started to struggle, trying not to laugh. "Jerk."

"You wanna keep wiggling, dat fine by me."

Instantly, she went still. "You're not playing fair, Remy."

"Why start now?" But he let her go, and she slid to the side, quickly putting several inches between them. "You know," he said, "you scoot over much more, you're gonna land on your…"

There was a resounding thump as she fell. "Shut up, Cajun," she said dangerously, but he couldn't help laughing.

"Sorry, chere," he said through his chuckles.

Quick as a snake, she reached up and grabbed his belt, hauling him to the floor. "See how you like--oof," she gasped, as he fell on top of her.

His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Like it a bunch," he said.

"You're a lot heavier than you look," she said.

"Yeah." He wasn't listening. His eyes, onyx and ruby, had locked on hers and the air grew heavy between them. His gloved thumb slowly rubbed the side of her neck.

"Remy?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Rogue!" Kurt cried as he ported into the room, appearing on the opposite side of the bed. He looked around wildly. "Are you okay? What was that noise? Rogue?"

Remy dropped his head and rolled to the side. Rogue struggled to standing, tugging at her clothes.

"Ah'm fine, Kurt. Ah just…"

"_Chere_ ain't got no balance," said Remy, springing up lightly.

Kurt's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?" he spat the words at Remy.

"Nothin', Kurt. He didn't do anything. Don't y'all ever think about knocking?" she added as Kitty phased through the door at a run.

"Are you okay?"

"Ah'm fine!"

"Second time you all came bargin' in on us, though."

Kurt's rounded on his sister. "Us?"

Rogue groaned. "I fell, Kurt. And then Remy…"

"Tripped?" Kitty prompted.

"Yeah. Honest, Kurt. It isn't anything." She didn't miss the sudden coolness of Remy's look. 

He grabbed his coat from the desk chair. "Gotta go."

"Remy, wait," she called. But he was out the door.

She looked at Kitty helplessly. "Go," Kitty instructed, shooing her out. Rogue nodded, dashing out the door in her bare feet.

"What'd I miss?" Kurt asked. 

"How can you be so dense? You have a girlfriend, right? Are you, like, completely clueless?"

"I was worried about my sister! That's not a crime, you know," Kurt sulked.

"Neither is Remy spending time with her. He's not going to hurt her."

"You don't know that." He paced back and forth, tail whipping in frustration.

"Yes, I do. Don't you see he's interested in her?"

"I see that, Kitty. I just don't like it."

"Well, do you see that she likes him?"

"She's just flattered."

"No, she's falling for him. And you're just…just…_mean_ to make her feel bad about it!" Furious for reasons she couldn't explain, she stomped out.

Rogue caught up with Remy outside his room. "Remy, will you wait? God, what are you so angry about?"

"It isn't anything?" he said icily. "What the hell does a man gotta do to rate as anything wit you, Rogue? I ain't one of your sainted X-Men, so I'm out of de running?"

"That's not fair, Remy."

"Life ain't fair. And I sure as hell ain't no saint. Better get used to it."

She bristled. "Do you know how much crap people are givin' me about all of this?"

"Didn't realize I was such an inconvenience. You want me to go?"

The floor seemed to drop beneath her feet, but she shrugged, feigning indifference. "If you want to leave, Remy, don't let me stop you."

"You didn't answer de question. You want me to go?"

"Ah told you…"

"You told me it was up t'me. Don't need your permission t'leave, Rogue. But don't turn it 'round like dat. You want me t' go, say de word. But you can't say it's my choice and then call me de bad guy if you don't like what I choose."

She bit her lip, shifted her weight. "Ah don't want you to go," she said finally.

"You sure?" 

She looked at him, exasperated. "Remy, are you _trying_ to make me squirm?"

He flashed a quick grin. "Can't say as I mind it." 

She sighed. He shifted gears so quickly it nearly made her dizzy. "Ah'm sorry. Ah shouldn't have said that to Kurt."

"Did you mean it?"

For a moment, she was silent, weighing her words. "No. Ah don't know what this is. But it's something. Isn't it?"

Now he smiled broadly, and the tightness in her chest eased a little. "I hope so. You ain't de only one catchin' hell over dis. Cryin' shame if it's all for nothin'."

"Yeah. Can't have that," she said, then glanced at her watch. "Ah'm gonna be late!"

"Best hurry. I've had enough words with Wolverine today."

"What?"

"Never mind, chere. Go on. I'll see you at dinner."

She took off running, and Remy let himself into his room, humming as he did. That girl, he thought, could wear a man out just keeping up with her, let alone trying to stay one step ahead.

*

*

*

*

*

"I am unconvinced. What makes you think it will work?" The man behind the desk regarded Dane impassively.

"I can't get into the mansion. We won't get her that way, especially if you want it untraceable. There's no way. And they're on their guard right now. I'd have to go through the whole team to grab her. Give it a little time, let them think we've lost interest. When she's comfortable again, she'll get sloppy."

"Why should I not think that this is a delaying tactic on your part? Thus far, your work has not warranted your fee. Perhaps I should ask for…restitution."

Dane spoke quickly, feeling the beginnings of a cold sweat. "I memorized the files you gave me. He's their weak link. And Xavier's so dedicated to the whole "peace and harmony" idea, he's got blinders on. It'll work. It's already in motion. They won't realize what's happened until it's too late."

His employer was dubious. "Perhaps you require assistance. I have sources who would be quite pleased to join you in this endeavor."

"I don't need a baby-sitter. You said you wanted this quiet. If you bring in someone else, it'll be too easy to follow back to you."

"I am losing patience."

"You'll have her. Soon."

"Yes, I shall."

Sigh. I'm sorry, guys. This one moved slowly, both in real life and in a narrative sense, but it's all groundwork, I swear. Took me a while to make sure I wasn't painting myself into a corner, continuity-wise. Coming up -- more Romy, and Dane makes a move (finally!).


	19. Negotiations

A/N: Yeah, yeah. It's beyond late. I'll be stunned if anyone actually remembers where we left off. Many apologies. As for review responses, I've got a boatload of them in a word file, but I need to figure out which responses go with which chapter. Any authors out there who have an effective system for dealing with this? I'd be forever grateful.

Be gentle with me, please. It's not what it could be, but it's here. And I've got the first scene of the next chapter drafted -- it just didn't fit with this one, so I decided to split it.

Thanks for all the encouragement and patience.

--E.

Three weeks later:

Rogue landed flat on her back for the sixth time. "Dammit!"

"Again," Logan growled. "And quit leading with your left. You might as well take out a billboard tellin' me what you're gonna do."

She stared up at him from the floor. "You are being such a jerk," she muttered, slowly sitting up. "Why don't you just say it?"

"Say what? Let's go. You're wastin' time, kid."

"Give a girl a minute, will ya?" She rolled her right shoulder. It was throbbing from her repeated falls. She and Logan had been sparring for the last twenty minutes, and she had yet to stay on her feet long enough to land a punch. "Have Ah always sucked this bad? Or are you pissed about somethin'?"

He didn't answer, just folded his arms and tapped his fingers pointedly. "You've had a minute. Let's go."

"You're pissed about Remy," she said.

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

She snorted. "That's funny. Three weeks ago, you had a lot to say on the topic."

"You gonna listen?"

"You gonna stop droppin' me?"

"Maybe if you'd gotten enough sleep, you'd move a little faster. Wouldn't keep ending up on your ass."

"See? Ah knew it."

Logan growled again. "I told you I didn't want to see you two like that again." And yet he kept finding the two of them cozied up in the living room at two in the morning. In the kitchen, eating ice cream in the middle of the night. Just last night, he had watched as Rogue stumbled, bleary-eyed, out of Gambit's room and only stopped back in her own to get fresh clothes before coming here. Logan was confident nothing had happened – he would have heard, and he would have stopped it – but Rogue's easy dismissal of his warning rankled.

"And Ah told you that wasn't your place."

"He's keeping you up."

She blew a strand of white from her face and smirked. "Keeping you up, too."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You think Ah haven't noticed you following us around like some sort of shadow? You think Remy hasn't? You're good, Logan, but Ah hear you checkin' on me at night. Metal bones, creaky floor. You ain't as quiet as you think sometimes."

That stung. Logan cursed the wide wood floors of the mansion. "What do you want me to say? I don't trust him."

"Nobody said you had to. But could you lay off? It ain't like there are guys lining up on the veranda for dates with the girl who can't touch. Can't really afford to have you scarin' this one off."

"So you're gonna settle for Gumbo?"

"It's not settling, Logan. Ah like him." She glared at him, arms crossed.

"You don't know anything about him."

"Ah know he helped me when he didn't need to. Ah know he's caught hell from you and Kurt and God knows who else since he walked in the door, but he's still here. Ah know he makes me feel normal."

"You are normal."

"No, Ah'm not. You said it yourself – Ah've changed. And Ah'm tryin' to keep goin', like you said, but it's still there, a big crack inside of me. And he doesn't mind. He doesn't feel sorry for me, or look at me funny, or act all polite. It's just part of me, like mah hair or mah skin. It doesn't matter."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, either."

"Apples and oranges, Logan." She lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance he was too familiar with. "He wants me, even though he could have any girl in the world. Even though he can't have me. Why is it so wrong to want him back?"

Maybe that's why he wants you, Logan thought. But he didn't say it. He wasn't going to be the one to break her heart like that. "You're gonna get hurt." He strode to the bench at the side of the room, took several slugs from a bottle of water.

"Bein' alone hurts," she said quietly, standing still. She hated to admit that to Logan, of all people. He preferred – practically demanded to be left alone. But there it was. "He makes me feel like Ah'm not."

"You could do better," he said, not looking at her directly. Instead, he watched her in the mirrored wall as she absently rubbed her sore shoulder.

"Better how?"

"Someone like Cyke," he suggested, knowing it was weak.

She laughed now. "You'd gut me if Ah went out with Scott. Or anyone like him."

"That's not true." But he couldn't quite force enough conviction in his tone.

"Sure it is. You said he was a sanctimonious boy scout, and if you ever caught me sulkin' over someone like him again, you would, and Ah quote, 'Gut me like a catfish.'" She chuckled at the memory now. It had been shortly after Mystique had kidnapped Scott, and the constant references to the Scott and Jean's "special connection" had been like salt in a wide-open wound. Logan had found her in the danger room, taking out simulation drones to the point of exhaustion, and had, as always, made it better.

"Well, you're better off with a boy scout than a mercenary. I don't trust him," he said again, and tossed her a bottle of water. "Sit down and rest that shoulder, will you?"

"Thanks." She cracked open the water and took a drink. "You don't trust anyone," she pointed out.

He made a sound between acknowledgment and irritation. "Still. Why'd he agree to work for Magneto?"

"Ah haven't asked." She kicked half-heartedly at a medicine ball lying nearby.

"Why hasn't he gone back to New Orleans?"

"Some kind of fallin' out with his family, Ah think. Not really in a position to judge," she added, her mouth twisting a little.

"What'd he do before he was an Acolyte?"

"Ah don't know, Logan, and Ah don't care."

"You absorbed him, right?" He didn't wait for a response. "Then how come you don't know this stuff?"

"Because Ah haven't integrated him yet," she said irritably. "and he's pretty well contained."

"See, I think that's strange, kid."

"What? It's not exactly a walk in the park, integratin' somebody." She sat now, crossed her arms stubbornly.

"Right, but you're telling me you have the chance to read your boyfriend like an open book, and you're not taking it? Scared of what you'll see?"

"He's not my boyfriend. And Ah'm not scared, ah just wanna respect his privacy. You remember privacy, don't you? Or maybe not, since you're invadin' mine every time Ah turn around."

"I'm just looking out for you."

She sighed in frustration. "You're not gettin' it, are you? Ah like him, and Ah don't need your permission for that. And," she added more gently, "Ah don't need your protection."

"What am I supposed to do, kid?" he grumbled, sitting down next to her. He tipped his head back, studied the acoustic tiles of the ceiling.

"Quit followin' us around, for starters. Quit pickin' fights with Remy every time you see him." She leaned her head on his shoulder, gave him a weary smile. "And trust me, will ya? Ah've got good instincts, Logan, and believe it or not, Ah've paid attention to you along the way." Nothing she could say, she knew, would make him trust Remy. But she needed him to have faith in _her_.

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he shrugged. "You're paying attention? Never know it from the way you're punching today." He laughed as she shoved at him. "You ready now?" He stood up, extended a hand to help her up.

The next night, Kurt and Amanda stood in the kitchen making dinner.

"I don't understand why we can't just order pizza," Kurt grumbled, eyeing the pile of red and yellow peppers he had yet to cut.

"Because you have pizza every weekend, for one. And two, not everyone here feels that pizza makes up its own food group. They'd like something a little more nutritious. Now hand me that bowl." Amanda loved the Institute's kitchen. It was outfitted like a restaurant, with a six burner stove, giant fridge, acres of countertops, pots and pans large enough to cook meals for multitudes, or extremely hungry mutant teenagers. But despite its size, it was still warm and friendly, the hub of the school, where the kids were most truly a family.

"Amanda, we're teenagers. We don't care about nutrition." But he passed her the bowl and watched as she began mixing a marinade.

"Well, you should. Mutants cannot live by pizza alone," she teased.

"I wouldn't mind trying," he muttered. "And this is not a guy meal," he added, chopping grimly. "This is a girly meal."

"So?" she returned, tucking her hair behind her ear and slipping her arms around Kurt's waist. "Tell them your girlfriend picked it out." She tilted her head up for a kiss.

He smiled and set the knife down. "Well, when you put it that way…"

"Hi, Amanda," said Kitty as she entered. The pair broke apart. "How did you end up with kitchen duty?"

Amanda smiled broadly. "You know that saying about too many cooks?"

"Yeah?"

"Jamie." Kurt chimed in. "Too many Jamies. He's setting the table now. How's it going, Kitty?" he asked. She had been cool to him since the incident in Rogue's room. He didn't understand why, and it pained him. It wasn't right, he thought. He and Kitty had always shared a special closeness. The youngest on the team, the ones most often in trouble. With similar mutations, they fought well together. They had watched together as Rogue spiraled out of control. Now, though, with his sister slowly coming back to herself, they seemed an ocean apart. He picked up the knife again, got back to the pile of peppers.

"Fine," she said stiffly, and turned to Amanda. "You shouldn't have to cook. You're the guest."

"Oh, I don't mind. The company's good." You didn't need special powers to pick up on the tension between Kurt and Kitty, she mused. Kurt had described the scene in Rogue's room and Kitty's reaction. He had been dumbfounded by her anger, and even more so when Kitty's anger turned to an icy silence. The two girls, good friends, had carefully avoided talking about it.

Kitty walked to the fridge, pulled out a Diet Coke. "It seems like you haven't been around much lately," she said. "We should go shopping soon."

The other girl bent her head, concentrated on chopping garlic much harder than Kitty figured was necessary. "My parents have me on a pretty short leash," she said finally.

"Because they don't like me," Kurt said darkly. "It's not fair."

"They're worried, that's all," Amanda protested. She scraped the garlic into the marinade, began on the ginger.

Kitty's eyes narrowed. "That must totally suck," she said pointedly. "Having people judge the person you like, when they don't even know that person."

The pieces fell into place so neatly, Amanda could have sworn she heard a click. "Honey, can you go help Jamie?" she asked innocently.

"He doesn't need help. There are fourteen of him!"

"Yes, but I'm betting not one of them knows which side the napkins go on. Just check on him, will you?"

Kurt bamf'd out, leaving the two girls alone in the kitchen. Amanda picked up the knife he had left and deftly cut the remaining peppers into strips.

"Sorry," Kitty said after a moment. "I didn't mean to sound so bitchy. It does suck."

Amanda nodded, started on the mushrooms. "It does. But that's why you won't talk to Kurt, isn't it? Because he's been judgemental?"

"It's not right," she replied, crossing her arms. "He, like, doesn't know Remy at all. But he's so convinced that Remy's a bad guy, Kurt won't even look at how much happier Rogue's been since he's come here. She's tons better."

"So this is about Gambit and Rogue," Amanda said slowly. She moved back to the marinade and whisked together soy sauce and brown sugar, her eyes never leaving Kitty's.

"Well, yeah," Kitty said, faintly defensive. "Relationships are hard enough as it is, don't you think? It doesn't exactly help when people try to split you up because they think they're protecting you, or that the other person isn't good enough. That's just totally wrong."

Amanda nodded again. "It is."

"It shouldn't matter about people's pasts. Not if they really care about each other. Not if they've changed." She paused, blue eyes suddenly clouded. "People can change, you know."

Amanda was about to respond when Kurt bamf'd back in.

"Jamie's fine," he said. "I showed him where everything went, again. He's almost done."

"Great." She handed him the bowl of marinade. "Put the shrimp in here, okay?

"I've got to go back to the library," Kitty said abruptly. "I have, like, a mountain of homework to finish. See you later, Amanda. Let's hit the mall soon."

"I can't wait."

"Bye, Kitty." Kurt called.

"Bye," she said, not looking back.

He waited until her footsteps died away. "See? She barely talks to me." He tossed the shrimp in the bowl one by one, sulking.

Amanda measured out water and rice, considering her words. "Why do you dislike Gambit?"

"Um, because he's dangerous? He's trying to sleep with my sister? He worked for Magneto? He's totally untrustworthy? Things are always blowing up around him?" Kurt threw up his arms in frustration. "What's not to like? Even Wolverine thinks he's trouble."

She turned on the heat under the rice, then faced him and crossed her arms. "Wolverine probably thinks I'm trouble, Kurt."

He smiled for a moment, but the scowl that darkened his face any time Gambit was mentioned quickly returned. "I don't trust the guy. I want him away from my sister."

"What does Rogue want?"

"She doesn't know what she wants."

"Really? But you do?" Her tone was mild, but Kurt heard the reproach.

"Hey, whose side are you on?"

"Yours, dummy." She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed as his arms went around her waist. "I seem to remember having a conversation like this before."

He glanced down at her, yellow eyes puzzled. "About Gambit?"

"About Lance," she said. "Ring any bells?"

Kurt considered briefly. "I guess so."

"You guess so?" She poked him gently in the side. "How many times did you tell me that he was dangerous and only trying to get Kitty in bed? That he was just a lying thug? That he was nothing but trouble?"

"Okay, okay," he said, shaking his head. "So they're both jerks. That just proves I'm right about Gambit. Rogue is better off without him, just like Kitty is without Lance."

She raised her eyebrows. "Because they're trouble, right? The girls might get hurt."

"Exactly." He looked at her suspiciously. "You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"Kurt, my parents…" she hesitated. "They think something could happen to me, being around you and the rest of the team." She didn't tell him how difficult it had been lately, convincing them to let her come to the mansion. News coverage of the Institute's role in the Apocalypse incident had made them even more overprotective. Even the nightly phone calls with Kurt were becoming a sensitive topic at home.

His arms tightened around her. "But I wouldn't ever hurt you, Amanda. You know that." Just the thought made him queasy.

"Of course you wouldn't. But…"

"But what?"

She nestled her head closer against him, relishing the soft warmth of his blue fur. "Being a part of the X-Men…it's dangerous for you, Kurt. And my parents worry that I'll be caught up in it."

"I wouldn't let anything happen to you," he said again.

"But you think Gambit would let something happen to your sister? That Lance would have deliberately put Kitty in harm's way?"

"It's different," he muttered.

She was silent, looking up at him with patient brown eyes.

"It _is_," he protested. Still, she said nothing.

"So you're saying that me disapproving of Rogue and Gambit is like your parents disapproving of you and me."

She straightened and smiled. "Very good. Keep going. Now, why does that make Kitty so mad?"

"Because I'm interfering with Rogue and Gambit."

"And…"

"And...she thinks I shouldn't?" He was lost.

"Because..."

"Because she has a soft spot for the slimeball?" His tail whipped in agitation. It was bad enough that his sister was blind to Gambit's faults. To have Kitty similarly spellbound was adding insult to injury.

Amanda sighed. "Just for fun, let's pretend he's not a slimeball."

"But- "

"_Pretend_," she said firmly.

"Fine. So Kitty has a soft spot for Gambit."

Amanda put a wok on the burner, heated up some oil. "And why would that be?"

He threw up his hands. "I have no idea!"

She rolled her eyes. "For heaven's sake, Kurt. She misses Lance. Gambit reminds her of Lance. So when you go off about Rogue and Gambit, it strikes a nerve." A nerve, Amanda thought, that was still exposed.

He mulled that over and shook his head. "And so she's mad."

"So she's mad," Amanda confirmed, dumping onions and peppers into the wok.

"Do you really think so?" Kurt asked, randomly opening drawers and staring blankly at their contents.

"I think I want you to fix things with Kitty, so you stop worrying about it."

"You just want things back to normal so you two can go shopping."

She dimpled. "What can I say? A sale at Bloomie's and you." She kissed him again, put the cover on the rice. "The two things that make my heart go pitter-pat."

"Should dese ears be burnin', _p'tite_?" Remy strolled into the kitchen. "I've been told more dan once dat I have dat effect on _les filles_."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

Remy ignored the blue-furred mutant. "Don' b'lieve I've seen you around here." He flicked a glance at Kurt. "An' I'd remember such a pretty face."

"Oh. Um." Amanda blushed, flustered. "I'm Amanda. Amanda Sefton. Kurt's girlfriend." No wonder Rogue was spending all her time with the newcomer. He wasn't her type, no, she'd take sweet and blue and furry any day. But his face, simultaneously harsh and beautiful, and his burning eyes would appeal to Rogue.

"Remy LeBeau," he said smoothly, extending his hand.

"Oh. I thought it was Gambit," she said tentatively.

"Dat a work name," he said. "You don' call Blue-boy here 'Nightcrawler,' do you?"

"Well, no."

"Den you call me Remy. Spendin' time wit a _fille_ as pretty as you, dat ain' work. Dat pure pleasure." He looked at the vegetables sizzling in the wok. "Bubble, bubble, eh? Looks good." He spotted a pile of carrots that needed cutting, moved easily to the counter. "Cut 'em in coins, _p'tite_? Or strips?"

"Julienned, please," she replied.

"Did you want something, _Gambit_?" Kurt asked, moving between Remy and Amanda. She elbowed him. _Be nice_, she mouthed.

"May be hope fo' you yet, blue-boy. Good taste in women, and you perceptive, too. I'm lookin' for Rogue. You seen her?" He worked quickly, and a mounting pile of orange strips appeared to one side of the cutting board.

"Like I'd tell- ow!" he gave Amanda a dirty look, tried to rub his side unobtrusively. "No. She has a session with Wolverine. Like she does every day."

"I know de _fille's_ schedule." He finished up on the carrots, and at Amanda's nod, added them to the wok.

"Why are you asking, then?"

"Jus' thought I'd check up. Li'l worried, dat's all." He shrugged, fiddled with the sleeve of his trench coat.

Instantly, Kurt shifted from suspicion to concern. "Why? What's wrong?"

"She's finishin' up Sabretooth wit de Professor, and it givin' her a hard time. Figured maybe de Wolverine let her out early, cut her some slack. You see how beat she was last night?"

Kurt considered. Rogue had been whiter than usual, more silent at dinner than she had for the past few weeks. She had sat down with jaw clenched and eyes focused on the wall across from her. He knew the look, he realized. When the personalities in her head were particularly hard to control, Rogue drew inward, marshalling every bit of energy she had. She had left dinner early, he remembered now, the professor excusing her before the dishes had been passed all the way around the table. Wolverine had watched her go, concern clouding his face. And his expression had only darkened when Remy had followed.

"You checked on her. Was she okay?"

"She says she's fine. Won't let herself be anyt'ing else." He didn't add that Rogue had spent the night on the living room couch again, startling out of nightmares with a frequency that had him pacing the floor of Charles' study moments after she had left for school.

_"I will not discuss Rogue's psychological progress with you, Gambit. That is for her to disclose."_

"You brought me here to help de fille. How am I supposed to help her if I don' know what's happening?" He wished desperately for a cigarette.

"Your presence helps her. Your friendship helps her. Her work with me is bolstered by those things. Beyond that, it is for Rogue to tell you."

He sat on the couch then, elbows on knees, head in his hands. "You heard her scream?"

"I have, yes." A harrowing sound. A harrowing echo in his head.

"I t'ink sometimes, how it must be for her. Jus' listenin' to her, it terrifyin. To live 'em must be hell." Even in sleep, her body had remained tense, braced against something she wouldn't describe.

"Yes. I would imagine that it is."

"Make it better, den. Go easier on her."

"I am doing everything in my power to aid her. But she sets the pace herself. And she is a tenacious young woman, as I'm sure you've discovered."

"Tenacious." He snorted. "Dat fille mule-headed." He shook his head. "Is it gettin' better? You can tell me dat, right? Is she gettin' better?"

"She's making progress. If you want more details, you will have to get them from Rogue herself."

He shook his head. "I'm goin' to find her," he said tiredly. "Amanda, _p'tite_, pleasure meetin' you. If you see de Rogue first, tell her I'm lookin' for her, _non_?"

"Sure, Remy." She gazed at him sympathetically, then stepped hard on Kurt's toes, raising her eyebrows for emphasis.

"Gambit," Kurt called. "Wait."

Remy turned back around, hands jammed in the pockets of his coat. "What?"  
Kurt hesitated for a long moment, struggled to find the words. "She's my sister," he said finally. "She's my family. I worry about her, too."

Remy nodded. "Den I guess we got somet'in' in common after all."

He found her, later, up on the roof. Indian summer had passed, and the bite in the air was sharper every night. Rogue was wrapped in a wool blanket, staring out at the ocean.

"Missed dinner," he commented, sitting down next to her. "Nightcrawler's girlfriend quite a cook."

She nodded absently. "The professor let me skip," she said.

"Rough day?" He stretched his legs out. This patch of roof had become part of their nightly routine, coming up here after dinner, just sitting and talking. When they got too cold, they'd head back in and join Kitty for a game of cards or to watch TV. Sometimes the girls would do homework while he lounged about, letting their chatter and complaints wash over him.

"Better than yesterday," she said, but her mouth twisted and she tugged the blanket tighter around her.

"Dat ain' sayin' much." He studied her. She was still pale and drawn, shadows like bruises under her eyes. She had shed the frozen, fragile look of the night before, though. "You cold?"

"A little."

"Here. Coffee." He poured a cup from the thermos he had brought, passed it to her, and waited while she drank.

"Jesus, Remy!" She spluttered, eyes watering as she coughed.

"Jus' added a li'l whiskey." He grinned helpfully.

"That's a little? Ah may fall off the roof."

He frowned fiercely. "Don' say dat. I'd catch you, _chere_. B'sides, I'm jus' tryin' to keep you warm. Less you want me to warm you up…personally."

She crooked one blanketed elbow, aimed it at his gut. "Ah'm fine."

They sat in silence. Rogue took another sip of coffee, better prepared for the burning in her throat this time. It was nice to just rest here with Remy, she thought. The previous night's dreams had left her frayed and jittery, an overstimulated nerve. All day she had been following the professor's advice.

_"Focus on one thing," he had told her. "One voice, one object, one train of thought. Let everything else blur and recede. Focus on that one thing, and let it guide you out of the chaos."_

"Like the thread in the labyrinth" she murmured, glancing up at him through a curtain of hair.

He smiled, pleased at her allusion. "Precisely."

"And I'm going to slay Sabretooth?"

"You're going to tame him."

It had worked, she thought, mildly surprised. The chaos had faded somewhat, and she felt steadier. She had avoided Remy all day, convinced that she wouldn't be able to focus with him around. But as the strain eased, she found herself waiting for him. Listening for him, which was nearly laughable. The man was quieter than a cat. If anything, he seemed to absorb sound, like an auditory black hole. She wondered idly if it was a part of his mutation. No, she decided. He was just sneaky.

Rogue willed herself to relax a little, helped by the spiked coffee. Now it wasn't the voices in her head making her tense, but Remy's presence at her side. She was hyperaware of him, as always, could tell to the nanometer exactly how close he was to touching her. She looked out at the water, took another drink, and sighed.

She looked better, he thought. He had known she was avoiding him, had chosen to leave her alone until she had time to settle herself. He had a million ways to occupy his time and his mind, he told himself. He had other irons in the fire. It was no effort to keep away. But that glazed look at dinner the night before kept creeping into his head, and so he had finally sought her out. Now she seemed more solid, if a bit tired. Ready, he thought, for some normalcy.

"You got kind of a nice routine goin', _chere_," he said. The clouds were indigo against a darker sky, the moon appearing and disappearing behind them. The light glinted off the lapping ocean below, broken into tiny flashes on the water.

She glanced at him, then turned back to the horizon. "Ah guess. Is that a bad thing? Routine?" He had never struck her as predictable. Maybe he was getting bored. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

He pondered for a moment. "Said it was a nice one, _chere_. Nice routine, nice family. Protective, but dat can be nice, too." Casually, he shifted his leg so that it just barely brushed hers through the red wool. He could feel her tense up, then deliberately relax.

"Kurt and Logan are still giving you a hard time?" He was testing her, she knew. Waiting to see if she'd pull away. Because he expected her to, she didn't.

"I t'ink me and de blue boy might've come to an' understandin'."

"Really?" She didn't mind him nearly touching her, she thought. They had spent enough time together lately that she was more comfortable around him. But tonight, she wasn't sure she could muster her usual defenses, the quick comebacks and snappy retorts that kept him in line. Knowing it was a mistake, that she was already feeling the alcohol, she took another sip of coffee. "Did hell freeze over?"

He chuckled. "I ain't saying we gonna start goin' steady, but mebbe we quit buttin' heads so often."

"I'm glad," she said softly. She lay back on the roof, listened to the sound of the water crashing on the rocks. "Logan ain't easin' up though, is he?"

Remy shrugged, stretched out next to her. "Homme t'inks I got…intentions, _chere_." He waggled his eyebrows at her, leered. "T'inks mebbe dey…nefarious."

"Are they?" she asked, keeping her voice light. She didn't take her eyes off the drifting clouds.

He propped himself up on one elbow, looked at her silhouette in the darkness. "Dat a trick question?"

"How is that a trick question, Remy?"

"First, you implyin' I got intentions – never said dat."

She gritted her teeth, stayed silent.

"Second, if I did, an' if dey were, I wouldn't go 'round sayin' so, now would I? Kind of defeat de purpose."

"So you aren't gonna answer," she said flatly.

"What was de question?" He grinned again, and she fought the urge to direct her elbow at his face this time.

"Do you ever give a straight answer, Cajun?"

"Depends on de question. Somet'in' you wanna ask?"

She thought back to her conversation with Logan. She didn't need the answers, but she wasn't afraid to ask, either. She rolled onto her side so that she was facing him. "Why'd you go to work for Magneto?" she said after a long moment

He jerked a shoulder. "Job's a job, _chere_, long as de check don' bounce. De man paid well. Paid cash. Don' much care 'bout his politics – dat why it's business."

"And you couldn't find any other jobs?"

He smiled thinly. "Haven't you read de paper? Dese tough times. Economy's tight. Man gotta take what he can find. It bother you dat I worked for him?"

"Ah don't know." He hadn't done it for the money, she was certain. "You're mad I asked, though."

He waved a hand nonchalantly. "_Pas de tout._ Ask away. "

The whiskey was beginning to work now, and she ignored the tightness in his smile. "Why did you leave New Orleans?"

"Family thought it was time I saw de world." Family though it best he cut and run, anyway.

"Right. So you backpacked through Europe?"

His eyes flew to her face briefly. "Spent some time dere. Spent some time lots o'places."

"But you haven't been back home?"

"_Non._" He shook his head once.

"What's the Guild?" she asked quietly.

He stiffened without realizing it, and kept his eyes on the crescent of moon above them. "It was jus' another job. You know. Acolytes. X-Men. Guild. Dey all jus' jobs, right?"

"No. This isn't just a job for me. And don't lie, Remy. She reached out with a gloved hand, turned his face towards hers. "You don't have to tell me the truth. But don't you ever lie to me."

"I ain't lyin', _chere_." He chose his next words carefully. "Used t'do some work for de Guild in N'awlins. Now I don't. And I ain't gonna be, either." Technically, that was true. The New Orleans Guild was closed to him, a door he slammed shut himself. Some days, he thought ruefully, it felt as if he was leaning his entire weight against that door, to keep everything from coming back in and flattening him. Other branches of the Guilds, however, were still an option. And he was a man who liked options.

"You're not going to tell me about your family, or Magneto, or your stupid Guild thing, are you?"

"Why it matter, Rogue?" He shoved down frustration and temper. What she was asking wasn't unreasonable, he reminded himself. She'd find out eventually anyway, once she integrated him. And it didn't matter how nicely he shined it up before then – after she relived it, she'd want to get as far away from him, from his past, as possible. "Dis is nice, right? You got your routine, your family, a handsome devil of a Cajun t'keep you company." She smacked his shoulder lightly, and he caught her hand in his. "Seem like t'ings are comin' up aces for you now. Leave de past where it is."

Her face softened as she took in the regret etched on his face. "It matters, Remy."

"Why?" He tugged her closer and pulled the blanket over both of them. "Chilly out here," he said.

"It ain't that chilly." But she didn't struggle, just looked steadily at him with eyes as soft and grey-green as the sea. "It matters," she repeated. "You matter."

"Don't mean you need my whole life, does it?"

"Ah need somethin'. You're growin' on me, Remy. Ah'll give you that. You're kinda like kudzu – just can't stop it."

He rolled his eyes. "T'anks."

"Welcome."

"You a little drunk, _chere_." He hoped not. He wanted her relaxed, not incoherent.

One corner of her mouth turned up. "A little buzzed, maybe. 'Jus' a l'il whiskey,' right?" She sighed as his hand trailed down her side, stopped to trace lazy circles at her hip. "Sober enough to know you're tryin' to distract me," she said.

"It workin'?" He tangled his legs with hers, slid his arm around her waist.

"Mmn." Suddenly, she couldn't think straight, and it wasn't the alcohol. His eyes were so black they gleamed, like obsidian, the red of his pupils a flickering light. Nervous, she tried to slow her breathing, to slow down whatever was building up between them. "You don't want to answer questions, swamp rat, maybe you shouldn't get so close."

"Dat a threat?" He didn't pull back. Couldn't. She was warm and soft and smelled faintly of lilacs and rain – spicy and sweet and clean all at once.

"A warnin', maybe." She shook her head, trying to clear it. "Why you doin' this, Remy?"

His eyes didn't leave her mouth. "Doin' what?"

"Bein' like this. I can't…we can't…" To Rogue's horror, her eyes filled, her voice broke. She pushed away from him and struggled to her feet. It was impossible, she thought. "This isn't gonna work, Remy. Go find some other girl." She strode to the ledge that overlooked her window, prepared to swing down inside the house.

He got to his feet and followed her, putting a hand on her arm. "Don' really want another girl. Like the one I got."

"Ah am _not_ your girl," she said, knocking his hand away. "And you don't have me."

He was losing patience. "Well, hell, woman. It ain't from lack of tryin'." With that, he grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around hers, and carried her back towards the center of the roof.

"Let me _go!_" She kicked out wildly, but with her arms trapped at her side, she couldn't get the right leverage. Eventually, her boot connected with his shin, and he dumped her on the blanket.

"Would you quit it? I ain't gonna do anything you don't want. But you goin' and spoilin' a perfectly nice moment." He walked back over to the ledge and sat down, blocking her only way down. "Dieu," he muttered, rubbing his shin. "Kinda hopin' we could skip de big talk, Rogue."

She sputtered at the realization that she was trapped. "The minute Ah get off this roof, you are a dead man. Ah will kick your ever-lovin' ass, LeBeau. Don't think Ah won't."

"Shut up." She gaped at him. "You asked me a question, _chere_, an' I goin' t'answer it. Dat what you been after all night, non? 'Answer de question, Remy.' 'Don' lie, Remy.' Well, I'm answerin' now. So show some damn manners. Shut y'mouth an' listen."

She sat down again at that, but her expression was no less murderous.

Remy took a deep breath. "I'm doin' dis 'cause I want to. I want _you_." Though at the moment, he was questioning the wisdom of that.

She shook her head. "But we can't--"

"Do I look stupid? Don' answer dat," he added quickly. "I know 'zactly what we can and can't do, Rogue. Given de matter some thought. More'n you, obviously."

She glared at him. "This is what you do all day? You think about ways around mah mutation?"

He closed his eyes for a minute, prayed to whatever gods were listening for a little more patience. "No. But I t'ink about it. I like spendin' time wit you. Like talkin' wit you, like watchin' you spar wit' de Wolverine. I like de way you smell. Like de way you laugh, even if you don' do it enough. Like de way you yell at de ref when we watch football. Like your cookin, but I ain't askin' you to pick out china patterns, hein? Jus' like bein wit you. And yeah, I t'ink about you like dat. You don't?"

She didn't answer. She wouldn't look at him, just closed her eyes and tried to breathe. In, out. In, out. Maybe if she counted. Backwards. In French. _Cent. Quatre-vingt dix-neuf. Quatre-vingt dix-huite. _Damn. Remy spoke French. Remy. Who was still sitting, one leg dangling over the edge of the roof, asking her if she thought about wanting him. She opened one eye.

"Still here, _chere_." He even gave a small wave, damn him.

She sighed. "This is humiliatin', Remy. Just let me go inside."

"Nope," he said cheerfully, standing up. He got it now, he thought. She was scared. And so she ran, counting on her skin and her porcupine temper to keep people from chasing after her. But Remy LeBeau didn't scare that easy. He didn't chase, either, he reminded himself. So what was this? He tucked the question away for later. "You didn't answer, Rogue. You don' t'ink 'bout me like dat?"

She scooted so that her back pressed against the brick of the nearest dormer. "It doesn't matter."

"Sure it does." He sat in front of her, one foot braced against the wall on either side of her. "An' don' lie," he added, mimicking her.

Rogue just shook her head, tried to push herself further into the brick. If she were Kitty, she thought, it would just swallow her up. Then again, if she were Kitty, she'd probably have an idea how to handle this. How to handle Remy.

"See," he said, "I figure either you scared 'cause we movin' too fast, or you scared 'cause you want things t'move faster. Mebbe both."

"Who says Ah'm scared?" she said, trying to sound cool and scornful, and failing miserably.

"De man watchin' you try t'phase through brick, dat who."

She flushed, caught. "Maybe Ah don't want you like that," she tossed back.

He just looked at her, a curious half-smile playing over his lips. Then, holding her eyes with his, he stripped off a glove and set it next to him. She watched, eyes wide, as he leaned forward and placed it, fingers splayed wide, between her breasts. He could feel the jack-hammer pounding of her heart, the frantic, shallow pace of her breathing.

His eyes never left hers. "Try again, Rogue."

She swallowed. She could feel the warmth of his hand through the thin black knit of her shirt. It ached, she thought, to have him so close, to want him so much. And the idea that the ache might stop, that he might leave, hurt even more. "It ain't gonna work, Remy. You an' me. It jus' ain't gonna work." She was sitting in shadow, the platinum streak of her hair gleaming dully. He could hear the tears thickening her voice.

"Why?" He didn't move his hand.

"You're gonna get tired of this, Remy. It's a challenge now, but later, you're gonna get tired of thinkin' up ways around mah skin. Of bein' careful."

"An' you could get tired o'my not inconsiderable charm," he countered. She snorted. "It ain't likely, but I s'pose you could."

"Remy," she said, exasperated.

"Why you gotta t'ink so much? You makin' it harder dan it need t'be. Ain't no guarantees, _chere_. Dat jus' life. Don' mean you shouldn't take a chance anyway. Don' mean you shouldn't live a little.

"An' you still not answerin' de question." Lightly, he brushed his fingertips over the swell of her breast, smiling as her breathing hitched and her eyes fluttered closed. "You t'ink 'bout me like dat?"

She nodded distantly, not opening her eyes.

"Jus' give dis a chance, Rogue. Give—" he almost said 'me', but caught himself in time. "Give dis a chance." He took her gloved hand in his bare one, laced their fingers together.

"This is gonna be a disaster," she said, mouth quirking.

"Mebbe." He pulled her closer, turned her under him.

"Logan's gonna kill you," she snickered.

"You spoilin' de mood 'gain, _chere_." He slid one hand down her body, smiling at her sudden intake of breath. "Don' like my girl talkin' 'bout anybody else when we're like dis."

"Ah'm not your girl, Cajun," she started to protest, breaking off as he shifted his weight slightly, and her eyes went blurry.

"You talk too much," he said, as she arched towards him. His breath warmed her skin through her shirt. "Hush."

Rogue hushed.


	20. Field Trip

Author's note: This chapter and the next are actually two halves of an unconscionably lengthy whole. I just couldn't bring myself to post them as one giant chapter, because it was just oh-so-wrong to expect y'all to sit for that amount of time. You can read them together, or come back later for part two, whichever you like.

Also, this chapter's PG-13, because there's a smidgen of language in the second part. Expect the rating to switch to an R soon, though. I don't like stepping on toes.

Anyway – Letanica was kind enough to beta, bless her heart, despite having about six million other things on her plate. If there's a mistake, trust me – she told me, and I forgot to change it. Katt8 was the one who finally said, "Um….can't you just split the chapter?" But she said it really nicely. So I did. A frillion thanks to both of them.

ETA: Roguechere pointed out, and rightly so, that if I was going for the title of Internet's Slowest Updater, it would help if I posted a summary before getting to the new stuff. So, here's the story thus far: Dane tried to kidnap a slightly depressed and unstable Rogue. Remy rescued her, and then came to stay at the mansion in one of the biggest plot contrivances since the Dawson's Creek finale. Logan was in mean and overprotective mode, but he and Rogue are working it out. Kind of. Kurt was cranky, he and Kitty fought about Kurt's behavior, Amanda helped restore the peace between the two, Remy and Rogue quarreled a lot, and there was…um…frisky Romy behavior up on the roof. What did you expect? It's fanfiction, people.

On with the show….

* * *

"You may take off your seatbelts," Storm called from the front of the Blackbird. "Wolverine, will you take the helm?"

"Sure." He flipped the switch that transferred primary control to his seat, settled in. Let Storm run the briefing, he thought. It was her mission, her family. This time, he was just backup, though he had pushed for Rogue to be included on the mission. It was her first time out since the incident with Dane, and he was interested to see how her increased training reflected in the field. The fact that it kept her away from Gambit for at least a day was just gravy.

Storm's voice cut into his thoughts. Outwardly, she was calm as ever, but he could scent the nerves on her. For her, he knew, there was more at stake than just the mission objectives.

"Several weeks ago, Evan contacted me. An anti-mutant group that he and the Morlocks have encountered previously has become more aggressive in their tactics."

"Who are they?" asked Scott. "Have we heard of them before?"

"Not here in Bayville." She glanced needlessly at the file next to her. "They call themselves the Friends."

"Like the Quakers?" Rogue said, snorting. "Give 'em points for irony, Ah guess."

Storm continued. "According to Evan, and other sources I've contacted, the group was fairly unorganized up until a month ago. At that point in time, both the intensity and frequency of the attacks increased."

"Have they breached the tunnels?" said Scott, already calculating.

"No. But they came close during the last skirmish, and Evan would like our help to ensure that doesn't happen."

Scott turned to the monitor embedded in a side console and called up a government blueprint of the tunnels. "That's a lot of ground to cover. Do they really think the tunnels are going to stay a secret?" He picked up a mechanical pencil and thought for a moment. "Kitty found these for us?" he asked.

"Yes, I asked her to upload them before we left."

The younger mutant frowned. "I know Kitty's good, but if she can find them…"

"…so can other people," Rogue finished.

"Scott, I'd like you and Rogue to go over the schematics, get a feel for the tunnels. Start formulating a plan, and we can discuss it with Evan when we arrive." She handed Rogue the file folder.

Scott smiled at Rogue. "Ready?"

"Sure," she said, moving to the seat next to his. The awkwardness she used to feel around him, strangely, was gone. She studied the diagram.

"What do you think?" he asked. "Where are they most vulnerable?"

She took the pencil from him without thinking, tapped the screen lightly. "Here," she said decisively, pointing to an industrial area. "Still in the city, so anybody trying to sneak in won't be too obvious, but there's not a lot of pedestrian traffic to worry about. And they can use the factories as cover, get some heavy equipment in. The tunnels there are huge," she added. "They could send an army through there." She pushed away the implications of a rabid anti-mutant group with weapons that needed an entire warehouse to hide in.

Scott nodded. "Yeah. It's a long way in before they hit the Morlock compound, though. We can set up an early warning system."

She traced the map with a gloved finger. "Sounds good," she said absently. Something was bothering her. She could feel it, a whisper at the nape of her neck, pinpricks under her palms. There was something missing, something crucial. Her eyes roved over the master plan, not certain what she was seeking.

Then she saw it. "What if they're not lookin' t'move an army? A quick strike…" she trailed off, punching up a map of another area, a short distance from the previous site. A typical neighborhood -- a little poor, a little run-down. And, she noticed with a growing sense of dread, more tunnels than anywhere else on the map.

Scott nodded, seeing it too. "They'll send multiple teams. Small and fast, all at once. Can't seal them off, though."

She agreed. "It'll trap the Morlocks inside. We need deterrents," she said. "Something to slow them down."

Logan watched the pair, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"It's quite a change," Storm murmured.

"Yeah," he answered gruffly. "Should be. She's worked her ass off. Nice to see it shows."

"You should be proud. She's facing her demons, gaining a sense of herself again. Confidence becomes her, don't you think?"

He shrugged, caught her speculative gaze. "What?"

"I was only wondering…"

"What?"

She sighed, braced herself. "Is it possible that Gambit has anything to do with her recent improvement?"

"No." Logan narrowed his eyes. "You know more about him than you're telling, 'Ro. Spill it."

She folded her hands, met his stare calmly. "People have a right to keep their pasts to themselves, Logan. Even Remy."

"Not if it's dangerous to the kids," he growled. "Is it?"

Storm considered her words carefully. "I know his family. _By reputation_," she hurried to add. That was true enough. If you had heard of the Thieves' Guild, you had heard of the LeBeaus, and you had heard of Remy's exile. How close rumor was to truth, she didn't know, and she had no desire to spread half-truths and speculation, especially to Logan.

"What's their reputation?"

"You would judge Remy by his family? Would you judge Rogue by hers?"

He glared silently at the controls in front of him.

She tilted her head. "Remy LeBeau is not his family," she said firmly. "The past is not always prologue. And if you continue to scowl like that, my friend, there is a very good possibility your face will freeze in that expression."

His brows lowered. "Maybe it'd scare the guy off."

"Somehow I doubt it." She smiled as he busied himself with the instruments in front of him.

The flight passed quickly, and Rogue and Scott finished the preliminary plans.

"So," he said casually, as she made a few more notations on the sheet in front of her.

"So what?" She shoved at a lock of hair and crossed her arms.

"You and Gambit seem to be getting pretty close."

She nearly scowled, caught herself. "Is that a problem? Against the rules?"

"It just seems like you're spending a lot of time together," he said carefully, well aware he was treading on dangerous ground.

"Ah guess. Ah've made all my sessions. Ah've been at dinner, just like the Professor wanted."

He eased off, made his tone casual and friendly. "You seem to be doing better."

"Ah'm great," she said shortly. She couldn't shake the look on Remy's face when she was heading for the Blackbird, though.

_"Nice costume, chere," he said, falling into step with her outside the briefing room._

"It's a uniform, smart-ass."

He shrugged. "Still nice. Lotta leather." He traced a finger along her collarbone.

She inhaled sharply. "Quit it, Remy. Not out here."

He slid his hand along her side, gently nudging her back against the wall. Bracing one hand next to her head, he kept the other at her waist and curled his fingers around her hip. "Where y' goin'?" he murmured, his mouth close to her ear.

"Did Ah stutter the first fifty times? Ah ain't gonna tell you, Remy. Stop askin'." She blew her hair out of her eyes, exasperated.

" Jus' wanna know where y' goin', chere," he protested. Holding her eyes, he slid the zipper at her throat down an inch, then back up.

She knocked his hand away, glancing around the corridor that led to the Blackbird. She caught sight of Kitty ducking back behind a corner and lowered her voice. "You don't get to have this part of me," she said, more harshly than she meant to.

His mouth tightened. "Right. Secrets. Sure," he said, pushing back from the wall.

"Stripes! Move it!" Logan's voice echoed down the hallway, and she jumped.

She touched his arm gently, wishing she could spill it all out before him. "Ah'll be back in a couple of days, tops. Just my job," she reminded him, and then poked his shoulder, deliberately playful. "Stay outta trouble, will ya, swamp rat?"

"I ain't de one off playin' superhero," he muttered. "Worry 'bout yourself."

She focused in on the schematics again. Turnabout was fair play, she reminded herself. "Seems strange, don't it?"

"What?" Scott glanced back at the schematic, worried he had missed something.

"Spyke callin' us in. Ah thought the Morlocks didn't like Topsiders, even mutant ones."

"Yeah, I thought about that too." Scott glanced toward the cockpit. "I don't think he's giving us the whole story," he continued quietly.

She shook her head. "Why wouldn't he? We're more use to him if we know what's goin' on."

"Who knows why?" Scott asked. "I just think there's more going on here than he's told Storm." He shrugged. "I'll bet you can get it out of him."

"Me?" Rogue looked at him, bewildered and on guard. "Why me?"

He backpedaled. "You guys always got along pretty well when he was here."

"You think?"

"Sure. Better than he and I did, anyway. And you both had these giant chips on your shoulders." Nice, Summers, he thought. Way to put your foot in it.

"Had?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

He chuckled, rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yours seems smaller these days."

She smiled, shrugged.

"You know," he said tentatively, "about Gambit…"

She stiffened. "Thought you said it wasn't a problem."

"It's not. Just…be careful, okay?" he said. "We're all grateful that he helped you out, Rogue." Both Jean and the Professor had insisted he still was. "But…"

"What?" she snapped.

"Nothing," he said resignedly. "Just be careful."

"Hey, peanut gallery," came Logan's voice from the cockpit, and Rogue bit back her reply. "Belts on. We're almost there."

* * *

Kitty frowned and shook her head so hard that her long brown ponytail whipped furiously back and forth. "I don't know, honestly." Remy had cornered her in the kitchen, and now she was mentally cursing her need for a snack.

"Come on, Kitty-cat. You wouldn't lie, would you?"

"She's on a mission. With Mr. Logan. She's fine, I'm telling you." Kitty folded her arms across her chest and backed up a few more steps.

"Please, _petite_. Wolvie don' even need t'know."

"He will put a claw through my laptop if I tell you," she said. "And Scott's there, too. Do you know how many extra training sessions he'll make me do if he finds out I told you about a mission location? A_ secret _mission location?" She shook her head again. "Mr. Logan will take care of her."

"She can take care of herself. Dat not de point."

Kitty's brow furrowed. "Then what's the point?"

He gave her his most soulful expression. "I feel better knowin' where she is. Sleep better. Jus' tell me." His gaze locked with hers, and the red of his eyes danced seductively. "It dangerous? Jus' tell me," he repeated. He didn't feel the slightest bit guilty about the charm.

"No, it's not dangerous," she said slowly. "Just a recon mission. For Spyke and the Morlocks."

"Morlocks?"

"They're tunnel-dwellers. They're mutants, but they live in the subway and the sewer tunnels under New York."

"She went to New York." He closed his eyes, swore, and the charm was broken.

"Hey! You totally tricked me!" Kitty cried. "That's not fair!"

"She went to New York?" he repeated.

In for a penny, thought Kitty, and sighed. "Yes."

"Where?"

"I told you. The tunnels."

"Kitty-cat," he said patiently, "New York's a big city. 'Tunnels' don' 'zactly narrow it down."

She wrinkled her nose. "You said you wanted to know where she was. I told you. If you're just curious, you don't need to know any more."

"'Course I do." He shifted his eyes back to her face.

"Do _not_ try that trick again."

"What trick?" He was all schoolboy innocence suddenly, hair falling into his face, smile wide and sweet.

"That…thing…" she sputtered. "With the eyes, and the tricking. Stop that." She looked away, huffed out a breath.

"We're wastin' time," he said. "Where'd you send 'em?"

"Why are you so worried?" she asked. "She's with the team."

"Las' time de fille go to town, she nearly got snatched. Mebbe it not really her town, _hein_?"

"Mr. Logan won't let anything happen to her."

The schoolboy vanished. "If I thought otherwise, Kitty-cat, I'd already be on dat fancy jet."

She shivered, then jumped as Kurt bamfed in. "Hey, guys," he said, glancing at their faces. "What's wrong?"

Kitty turned, sensing an ally. Remy and Kurt had somehow arrived at a truce in the last few weeks, and the strain between Kurt and Kitty had lessened. Even so, she knew he wouldn't look kindly on Remy trying to follow his sister on a mission. "Remy made me tell him where Rogue and the team went."

"Dude!" He considered for a moment. "She's gonna kill you," he said cheerfully. "And then she'll give your lifeless body to Wolverine. We should make popcorn," he said to Kitty as he moved to the cabinets.

"He's worried about her. He wants to go to New York," she said, looking at Remy balefully.

Kurt waved a hand dismissively and rummaged in the cabinet. "She's fine, Gambit," he said over his shoulder. "She's with— "

"—Wolverine. An' I don' care." He turned back to Kitty, took her hand. "Please. I ain't tryin' t' cause trouble. Dey won't even know I'm dere."

"Mr. Logan will know," she protested. "He's hella good, Remy."

He grinned. "So'm I."

"Tell him," Kurt said, reappearing from the depths of the cabinet with a Pop-Tart.

"What?" she squeaked. "Did you, like, leave your brain behind when you ported? And don't eat that without toasting it. Ew."

Kurt shrugged, bamfed to the toaster. "If he's right, which he's not, then it can't hurt. If he's wrong, and he probably is, we get to watch Rogue and Wolverine go postal on him. It seems like a win-win situation to me."

"T'anks for de vote o'confidence," Remy said dryly.

Kurt smirked. "So when do we leave?"

"We? No sidekicks, blue-boy."

"How am I suppose to watch Rogue kill you if I don't go with? We should pack snacks." He tugged the Pop-Tarts from the toaster, and bit into it, heedless of the temperature.

_"Non."_

"Ja." Kurt slung an arm around Kitty's shoulder. "You up for a road trip, _Katzchen_?"

She smiled sweetly at Remy, threaded an arm around Kurt's waist. "I'd love to. Chips or cookies?"

"Both."

"I don' have time for dis," Remy ground out. "Or room. I'm takin' my bike."

"Oh, it's no problem," Kitty said simply. "We'll take the jeep."

* * *

"You look thin," Storm said, frowning. They were standing at the shadowy mouth of a corrugated steel tunnel in the industrial zone Scott and Rogue had been studying earlier.

Evan shifted under her gaze. "I'm fine, Auntie O, really."

She reached out and brushed his cheek lightly, worriedly. There was no point, she knew, in asking how he was managing to survive. It would only make him more defensive. She held out a plastic container awkwardly. "Doctor McCoy sent you these."

"Peanut butter! Awesome!" He quickly devoured one, and she beamed at his enthusiasm. Almost regretfully, he snapped the lid back on. "Tell him thanks," he said.

"Have another," she urged.

"Later," he said, not meeting her eyes. He turned to the rest of the group. "Hey, guys."

"Spyke," said Logan. "How's it going?"

"It's going. Thanks for coming out."

"We're happy to help," Scott put in, extending his hand.

Evan shook it, then turned to examine Rogue. She leaned against the tunnel wall, a pack over her shoulder, a large box in her arms. "You gonna make a girl wait here all day? This stuff ain't light, y'know." Her mouth curved up. "It's good to see you, Porcupine."

He grinned. "You too, Skunk-head." She looked okay, he thought. Not happy, exactly, despite the smile playing across her face. But she had always looked to him as if she were braced for a blow, spoiling for a fight, a taut defensive slip of a thing. That tension had transformed into a watchful steadiness, a cool resolve. She was still older than any eighteen-year-old had a right to be, but it seemed to sit easier now. For her sake, he was glad of it. "What's in the box?"

"Medical stuff. Dr. McCoy figured you could use some supplies."

"Antibiotics?" he asked eagerly.

"A few," said Storm. "We assumed you would prefer first aid items."

"They're great, Auntie O. It's just that we can get that stuff from the store. Antibiotics mean doctors, pharmacies. Records. It's a lot more exposure."

"And that," said Callisto, appearing at the end of the tunnel, "is exactly what we want to avoid." She turned to Evan, mouth set. "Have they hidden that ridiculous plane of theirs?"

Logan jerked a thumb at a nearby warehouse. "Friend of ours owns that place. He's storing it for us."

She nodded curtly. "Fine. You shouldn't be standing out here," she said, and strode away.

"Come on in, guys," said Evan. "I'll give you the tour."

* * *

A short while later, they stood around a battered metal card table, blueprints of the tunnels spread out around them.

"And the change in tactics was that abrupt?" Storm asked.

"Practically. One day they were a bunch of losers holding up signs at demonstrations, and hassling us outside of grocery stores. Three days later, the same guys – plus a bunch more – ambushed us when we were coming back from the laundromat."

"You? The laundromat?" Rogue said, incredulous. "Damn, Spyke. You _have_ changed."

He shrugged. "Maytag doesn't deliver down here."

"Ah bet." She looked at the map, thinking. "Are you sure it was an ambush, though? They didn't just run into you guys, weren't just out looking for trouble?"

"No way. They were waiting for us."

"How many?" asked Logan, chewing his unlit cigar.

"Eleven." He met the older man's eyes. "They had weapons."

"Same guys?" asked Scott.

"Yeah, mostly."

"How many more incidents have there been, Evan?" Storm said, frowning.

"After that one? Five. They're happening more often, and they're worse each time. More aggressive, more organized. More injuries."

Logan nodded grimly. "Someone's backing them. Weapons, training. Information." He leaned back in the folding chair, propped his feet on the table.

"If they're escalating," said Scott, "It's only a matter of time before they can access the tunnels."

"And we must assume that is their goal," Storm said.

Rogue said nothing, just watched Evan. None of this was news to him, she realized. He knew that the Friends were closing in on the tunnels, that it was just a matter of time. Calling the X-Men in must have been the only option left, and one that meant swallowing buckets full of pride.

Scott indicated the map on the table. "We think these are the areas you're most vulnerable," he said. "We'll want to reinforce those first. Deterrents, delays. A defensive system that will give you guys some room to maneuver and get out."

"No." Evan shook his head and pointed. "Here."

"That's so far in," said Rogue. "The amount of damage these guys could do before…"

"Here," he said firmly. "We need this section safe first. We'll worry about the rest later."

Callisto and Caliban approached the table. "We concur," said Caliban. "Those tunnels are the priority."

"Why?" Rogue asked. "What's in those tunnels?"

Caliban turned to her, impassive. "The children."

Logan's boots hit the ground with a thud.

"You have _children_ here," said Storm, stunned. She covered her eyes with one hand, let it drop. "You cannot be serious. Evan?"

"You're raising kids in these tunnels, Spyke? What are you thinking? What are their parents thinking?" Scott sputtered.

Evan crossed his arms stubbornly. "Some of the parents are Morlocks. Some of them are topsiders who can't take care of their kids."

"You could send them to the Institute," Storm pointed out.

"You mean the secret school for mutants that is all over the news and has been targeted by both government agencies and terrorist organizations? That _'Institute'_?" spat Callisto. She tossed her hair disdainfully, turned to Rogue. "What were _your_ parents thinking, sending you to such a place?"

"You really don't want me to answer that," murmured Rogue, shaking her head.

Evan cut in. "Not everyone agrees with the professor, you know."

"So you've opened up your own little boarding school?" Logan demanded. "Christ, what a mess."

"It's not the life you guys want, but it works for some people." He met his aunt's eyes squarely. "It works for me."

"Are you going to help us or not?" demanded Callisto.

"Not until we straighten this out," said Scott.

"Evan. Children? Let us take them back to Charles, enroll them in school. They'll be better off there." Storm reached out a tentative hand towards her nephew.

He stepped back, towards the older Morlocks. "Says who? The Institute isn't a safe haven anymore. And I need to take care of my own."

Storm dropped her hand as if scorched. "Your own."

"I'm sorry," he said softly, not meeting his aunt's gaze.

"But your parents…"

"Wanted me to grow up. I have."

Storm looked around blankly. "It is too close in here," she said suddenly. "I would like some fresh air." She turned on her heel and left.

Evan started after her. "Not now," said Logan, grasping the boy by the wrist.

"She won't know how to get out. She'll get lost!"

"She won't. You think she'd come down here and not memorize exactly how to get above ground again?"

The group stood in awkward silence, muffled drips of water and diffused street noises the only interruptions. Finally, Rogue crossed over to the box of medical supplies and hefted them. "Where do you want these?"

"We have an infirmary," said Caliban. "I will show you."

"I'll take her," said Evan quickly.

Rogue glanced at Logan. "Okay with you?" she asked.

"Go ahead, kid. We'll make some revisions, and talk when everybody's back."

Evan picked up a second box. "This way," he said, heading down a side tunnel dimly lit with sulfur-colored emergency lights.

They sloshed through puddles of what could loosely be called water. After several turns and branches, he spoke. "She's disappointed," he said over his shoulder.

"Yeah." She smiled in sympathy. "It's hard, isn't it? Bein' what people expect?"

"I can't do it, Rogue. Not even for her."

"Ah know."

He stopped. "Here," he said, indicating a short tunnel to the left. A dingy shower curtain hung from top of the entrance.

"This is your med room?" She turned around, taking in a cot, a plastic lawn chair, a flimsy particleboard bookshelf with a few meager first-aid supplies. "Does anyone survive?"

"We've got places we can go topside if it's really bad. I just don't like to owe people."

She set the box on the chair, started unloading supplies. "Musta killed you to call us, huh?"

He jerked his shoulder. The fights with Callisto over calling the X-Men had been bitter, threatening the sense of family that made life underground bearable. She had finally agreed only after several of the children had witnessed the latest fight with the Friends. He turned the subject. "I'm glad you came."

"You know the prof wants to help."

"I'm glad _you_ came. Auntie O told me you've had a rough time. Are things better now?" He stood next to her, sorting bandages and ointment into shoeboxes.

She concentrated on lining up bottles of painkillers. "Doctor McCoy said you need to keep an eye on these. They're pretty strong," she said. Then, more quietly. "Yeah."

"Looks like it. You're different."

"Yeah. You too. And not just cause you got all pointy." He gave her a mock glare. She reached into the box, pulled out two bottles. "Amoxycillin. You've gotta mix 'em together right before you give it out, or it goes bad."

"I know the drill."

She looked at him curiously. "That's why you wanted the antibiotics, isn't it? For the kids?"

He groaned. "Do you know how many things little kids catch? Ear infections. Bronchitis. Strep. Every time I turn around, one of them's running a fever. It's like living with Toad, all the snot they make. It's disgusting."

"And you're playing nurse?" She laughed, genuinely amused.

"No way. I just make sure that we have what they need."

She nodded. "You're a good leader."

"Not really. But I'm learning." Peroxide, rubbing alcohol, cotton balls all went into a plastic tub on the shelf.

"So when do I meet the rugrats?"

"When do I hear about the guy?"

She blushed. "Storm told you?"

"She told me."

"So what are you askin' me for?" She finished shelving the rest of the supplies. "All set."

"You're not getting off that easy, Rogue. Let's go see the kids."

Click ahead for Part Two.


	21. Round Two

Author's note: This chapter and the preceding one are actually two halves of an unconscionably lengthy whole. I just couldn't bring myself to post them as one giant chapter, because it was just oh-so-wrong to expect y'all to sit for that amount of time. You can read them together, or come back later for this one, whichever you like.

Also, this chapter's PG-13, because there's a smidgen of language in the second part. Expect the rating to switch to an R soon, though. I don't like stepping on toes.

Anyway – Letanica was kind enough to beta, bless her heart, despite having about six million other things on her plate. If there's a mistake, trust me – she told me, and I forgot to change it. Katt8 was the one who finally said, "Um….can't you just split the chapter?" But she said it really nicely. So I did. A frillion thanks to both of them.

Lastly: music that helped get this behemoth written:

Darshan – B21  
Boom Boom – John Lee Hooker  
Burn – The Cure  
Are You Gonna Be My Girl – Jet

Here you go…

* * *

Storm glided up to the top of the warehouse holding the Blackbird. She tilted her face to the pale afternoon sun, welcoming the air and light. She hated the city, hated the noise and the incessant crowds, the concrete suffocating the earth, the buildings crowding out the sky. She hated it for taking her nephew. Breathing deeply, she tried to center herself and think rationally about what to do next.

He wasn't going to change his mind, and she had to accept that. She should be proud, she supposed, of his dedication and newfound maturity. Perhaps later she would be. For now, she would prefer to shake the boy until his teeth rattled.

What sort of life would he have? What sort of life would those children have, scrounging for survival, prey for the ignorant and violent? It was no life for a child. No life for anyone. They needed a stable environment, good food, warm beds, a chance to play in the sun. Not so much, she mused, and yet everything.

Still, they had chosen these tunnels, this life. She had seen enough of the world to understand that the only constant among people, baseline or mutant, was a desire to make a life of their own choosing. An individual's need for freedom, for independence, was rarely overestimated.

She glanced at the entrance to the tunnels, reluctant to return to their damp confines, and her chest tightened. A small group was approaching the tunnel purposefully, one of the men carrying a duffel bag. Storm tapped her communicator. "Wolverine?"

"Yeah, Ro? You okay?"

She ignored the question. "It appears the tunnels are about to be breached."

"What? Hold on." He sniffed audibly. "It's weak," he said. "Air doesn't move much down here. How many do you see?"

"Four."

"Take care of 'em," he growled. "We'll check the other tunnels."

"Very well." She said, and turned her attention to the group in front of her. Concentrating, she could see the ley lines, currents of natural energy running through the planet. Her eyes went pearlescent as she reached out, began to delicately pluck them. She had discovered through the years that a nimble touch and intense concentration were the most effective way to wield her gift. Grandiose gestures wasted energy better used to manipulate the weather, and so she gently directed the atmosphere, gliding on a current down to the men and then, with a graceful turn of her wrist, calling the lightning to strike directly at the feet of the group.

A chorus of shouts rose from the group as she approached. "You are not welcome here," she said, a flick of the fingers sending another bolt towards the men. "Leave now."

One of the men dragged a gun from the bag, aimed it at her. "You and what army?"

She cocked her head, extended her arms. "Am I not enough?" A gust of wind sent the man sprawling, and roiling clouds blocked the sun. "You will not harm these people," she said calmly, stepping back into the mouth of the tunnel.

"They ain't people!" shouted one of the men. "They ain't even human – they're just freaks, like you!"

Her hair whipped around her face in snowy tendrils. "They are living beings, as much a part of this world as you." It was always the same, she thought sadly, and sent another blast of lightning. The scent of ozone filled the air. "Thus far, I have deliberately missed," she said. "Leave now, or I shall be far more accurate."

The man she had knocked to the ground scrambled up. "You ain't worth it," he spat, and took off running. The other men, stunned, hesitated too long before following, and her next gust of wind pinned the remaining three to the wall.

"Shall we talk?" she asked coldly.

* * *

Evan and Rogue splashed through another tunnel. "So, these kids," she said tentatively.

"Yeah?" His tone was defensive.

"You said some of them were alone?"

"Five right now. The oldest is seven. The youngest is three. Their parents just left them, Rogue. Like some sort of puppy you'd find on the side of the road." His voice roughened. Advances in genetic testing could show which children carried the mutated X-gene, and children who had the "misfortune" of testing positively were often abandoned.

She didn't have any response to his sudden anger, so she went with the practical. "You know they're gonna get in eventually. The Friends."

He nodded. "They ramped up pretty fast. And we can't afford to take chances." He stopped. "Here," he said, gesturing. Rogue heard soft, high-pitched chatter and laughter, combined with the occasional thud. A large metal disk partially blocked the entrance, and she warily followed Evan through.

The "room" was actually the cavernous intersection of two tunnels. The three remaining branches had been converted to sleeping areas – she could see a set of bunk beds in each one, and the center area was a jumble of tables and chairs, toys and books. It appeared to have been brightly painted at one time, but grime and damp had turned the walls dull again.

The chatter and noise stopped abruptly. "It's okay, guys," said Evan. "She's a friend of mine."

"Ooooooooh," chimed several voices.

"Not that kinda friend," he said quickly. "She's with the X-Men."

"Is that your old family, Spyke?" asked a small redheaded girl.

"It was, Sarah." He shot Rogue an apologetic look over the child's head. "Now you guys are my family."

The girl turned to Rogue. "I can make spikes, too," she said. "Wanna see?"

"Ummm…maybe later," Rogue said cautiously. "She's got her powers this young?"

"Kids of mutants seem to show their mutations earlier," Evan replied, then laid a restraining hand over Sarah's. "Not in here, honey. There's not enough room." The girl pouted. "Here," he relented, handing her the box of cookies his aunt had brought. "Share them with the others."

"Thanks!" Pout gone, she scampered off.

Rogue took in the room. "How secure is it?" she asked.

"All three of the bedrooms are sealed," he said, "And the door we came in can be locked down pretty quickly, even by the kids."

"Nobody in or out?"

"There's a passage out, but it's hidden."

"You've practiced?"

"Yeah. We have drills."

She shook her head, amazed. "Look at you," she murmured. "All grown up."

"Nah. It was Callisto's idea. A lot of this stuff was in place before I got here."

"Not the kids, though."

"Only a few, mostly with their folks, like Sarah." They stood and watched the children playing. "So do you think Auntie O is gonna let you guys help?"

"Of course she is. She wants you to be safe, you moron."

"I guess."

She touched his arm lightly. "We should get back," she said. "Ah'm sure Scott and Logan have all sorts of plans."

"I hope so."

"I'll see you guys later," said Evan. "Say goodbye to…" he looked at his friend. "Miss Rogue."

She raised her eyebrows at the obedient chorus of goodbyes. "Miss Rogue? Ah'm not their teacher."

"Yeah, but you're not one of the kids, either." They headed back into the tunnels.

"Ah'm amazed you never get lost."

"You get used to it. You gonna tell me about this guy now?"

"What?"she asked, blushing.

"Is he nice?"

She thought about it for a moment. "He's nice to me. Kitty likes him. Kurt's comin' around, Ah think. He pisses off Logan."

Evan rolled his eyes. "Who doesn't?"

"Yeah, but Remy does it on purpose."

He let out a low whistle. "How's he still alive?"

"Ah'm not sure," she confessed. She had asked Logan to trust her judgment, but he didn't. He had left Remy alone because he knew it was important to her, not because he thought she was right. The result might have been the same, but the distinction was a fine one, and thinking about it made her bleed just a little.

"So," he said, grinning, "how do you guys…you know…" he waved his hand suggestively and dodged Rogue's shove.

"Ain't my fault you don't have any experience, Daniels."

Trust Rogue to know just where to aim. He tried to protest. "Hey, I've got experience. I've got _tons_ of experience. I just wondered…"

"Don't," she said threateningly.

"You really like him, huh?"

She was about to answer when the handset on Evan's waist crackled to life. "Spyke. Spyke!" The static didn't obscure the urgency in Callisto's voice.

He snatched the radio up. "What's wrong?"

"They're here!" In the background, they could hear Logan and Scott shouting orders at the others.

"What?" Instantly, the bony plates on Evan's back erupted.

"The intruders. They're in!"

"Which tunnels?"

"The western ones, mostly, but they've breached all the major entrances." Evan broke into a run, Rogue right behind him. "Hold on," he shouted into the radio, then turned to Rogue. "Lock down the kids' room. Get them out."

"Ah can't! Ah don't know how. Let's lock them down together, then go find the rest of the team."

"There isn't time! I counted on having someone here to watch them. You're it."

"Evan, get back here!" Callisto's voice cracked. "They're everywhere!"

He grabbed Rogue's wrist. "Hold still," he said, firing a row of spikes into the wall. "Stake anybody the kids don't know."

She took a deep breath, yanked the spikes out of the wall and tucked them in her belt. "Where's the passage?" she asked. "And what do I do when we're out?"

"Sarah will show you. It's in the floor, behind one of the bunk beds. You'll come out in an alley behind a diner. A few blocks south is a huge stone church – you can't miss it. Ask for Will. They'll be safe there."

"South. Church. Will."

"Yeah. You know how to get back to the kids' room?"

She visualized the tunnels and nodded. "Be careful, Spyke."

"You too. _Go!_" He took off again, vanishing into the echoing darkness.

Rogue sprinted in the opposite direction, calling Logan on her comm. "Wolverine!"

"You okay, Rogue?" She could hear the singing of his claws slashing through metal, the grunts and shouts of fighting. From the sounds of it, Logan was carving up weaponry with his usual style.

"Ah'm fine. Spyke sent me back to get the kids out." She hung a fast left, skidded, recovered.

"Alone?"

"There's some kinda hidden tunnel – I'll get them out and come back."

"Stay with—"

She switched off the comm, just in time to spot one of the intruders with his back to her, scanning a tunnel. She slipped behind him, and with a quick club to the knees, took him out. Two quick turns later, she was back in the children's tunnel.

"Where's Spyke?" asked Sarah through a mouthful of cookie.

"We need to go now," Rogue said. "Spyke said you have a secret way out?"

"Uh-huh." A wide eyed nod, and the children clustered around her.

"He wants you to show me, okay? But who knows how to lock the door?"

Spyke's drills had paid off, she decided. Within minutes, the entrance tunnel had been sealed off, the trap door opened, and all six kids carefully lowered.

"Stay behind me." Rogue said, sliding bars across the underside of the door. There was no emergency lighting in the tunnel, and the group was swallowed by the inky cold.

"But I know the way," Sarah's disembodied voice sounded sulky.

"How old are you?" She placed one hand on the slimy wall, the damp instantly soaking through her glove.

"Eight."

"God. Get behind me. Make a chain, hold the hand of whoever's in front of you."

Slowly, carefully, she led the group through the narrow tunnel, the brick beneath her fingers somehow both slick and rasping. She could smell stone and water, cold earth. Behind her, some of the children were snuffling, choking back tears, and she tried to judge the distance by the echoes of the small splashes her steps made.

"How far is it?" She kept her voice low, not knowing if the passageway was soundproof.

"I don't know," Sarah said. Her voice was trembling. "Spyke always brought a flashlight."

"Well, we'll show him, huh? We're so good we don't need a flashlight." She tried to inject some cheer into her whisper.

They moved, inch by torturous inch, sliding their feet along the floor to keep from tripping on loose stones.

"Are the grownups okay?"

She didn't pause in her methodical shuffle. "Ah'm sure they're fine," she said. "You should see my friends fight."

"Do you think Spyke and Callisto will meet us at Will's? And my mom and dad?"  
The ground was sloping up, she noticed as she tuned back in. "Huh? They'll probably wait a little while, make sure everything's okay before they come and get you."

"Are you gonna stay with us?"

"Ah don't know. Depends."

"On what?"

"A lotta stuff. Quiet now. I gotta pay attention."

* * *

Wolverine tried to get Rogue back on the communicator, but she had gone silent. He swore. Storm's warning had allowed them enough time to head off the intruders before they got too far into the tunnels. Now he found himself standing in a sewer teaching a bunch of wanna-be commandos what a bad idea it was to try fight their way past a mutant with a healing factor.

Slicing through the last gun, he knocked the man unconscious and slogged towards the next tunnel. A sudden cry caught his ear, and he rounded the corner in time to see Spyke pin a man to the wall with a few well-placed shards of bone. One spike had pierced the man's thigh, and Wolverine suspected that wasn't accidental.

"Nice work," he said, approaching the boy. "Where's Rogue?"

"She's getting the kids out." Spyke started down the tunnel again, stopping every few minutes to listen for more hostiles.

"Good. This section's clear."

Spyke nodded, face grim. "Then let's head back to the base."

"Works for me. One-Eye took the northern section, Storm and some of your people got the east."

"South?"

"Your people are on it."

He nodded again, calculating odds. He didn't like them. "What happened?"

"Storm spotted a group comin' in, sounded the alarm. Best I can tell, they're hitting as many tunnels as they can with small teams, trying to cover more ground."

"Quick strike, like Scott said."

"Those guns are set to stun, not kill," he growled. "They're after something."

"Yeah. Us," Spyke snapped.

"You're sure the kids are safe?"

"They will be," Spyke said, as they approached the cavern the group had met in earlier.

"Good," he said again. "Let's finish—what in the hell are you doing here?" he roared. Spyke gaped as Wolverine launched himself, claws extended, at a tall, lean man in a trenchcoat.

The man jabbed out with a long metal pole, catching Wolverine across the chest mid-jump. "Easy, _homme_. Not de one you want, I t'ink."

Kitty buried her face in her hands. "I told you he'd catch us," she moaned.

"Spyke!" cried Kurt, bamfing over to his friend. "Good to see you, dude!"

Wolverine slashed at Remy, who flipped backward over a table and landed gracefully. "Look like we got here jus' in time, _non_?"

Spyke watched as Wolverine and the other man circled each other. A small rectangle in the man's hand seemed to be glowing. "Kurt – who is that guy?"

"Him? That's Rogue's boyfriend."

Spyke goggled. "She wasn't kidding. He does piss Wolverine off." He snapped out of it. "Wolverine," he shouted. "Kill him later, will you?"

Wolverine pulled back reluctantly, rounded on Kitty. "Half-pint?"

"I'm sorry," she cried. "We were just going to check on Rogue, and then when we saw the smoke coming from the tunnels, we thought we should check it out!"

"Speakin' o' de _femme_," Remy drawled. "Where she hidin'?"

The radio crackled to life again. "Spyke, we need reinforcements in the southwest tunnels. And we have three new visitors. Mutants."

"It's okay, Caliban. I'm looking at them. Be right there."

Wolverine glared at Kitty. "You want to check something out? Go with Porcupine here and help clear those tunnels. Fuzzball, I'm dropping you off with Storm, and then I'll check in with Cyke."

"Where's Rogue?" asked Remy again.

Wolverine crossed his arms. "Get the hell out, Gumbo. You don't belong here."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Tell me where de Rogue is, I leave."

"Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Broadway and 115th," Spyke cut in. When Wolverine turned the glare on him, he jerked a shoulder. "I don't have time for this," he said, and the older man nodded grudgingly.

He turned back to Remy. "You're so hot to find Rogue? Get over to that church and make sure they're okay."

Remy was halfway through the tunnel when a thought struck him. "Who 'dey'?" he called back over his shoulder. But the team had already scattered.

* * *

"Y'all are doin' great," Rogue called back softly. In reality, their escape was agonizingly slow. Without any lighting, she needed to feel her way through the tunnel. She had tripped more than once on the slippery, uneven floor, landing in a rank sludge that probably looked as bad as it smelled. She couldn't help but wonder how the rest of the team was faring, how intense the fighting was. And she was stuck babysitting, she thought, irritation flashing through her. All of her training with Logan, the early mornings, the strained muscles, the hours spent on hand-to-hand, and she was slogging through God-only-knew-what with a bunch of kids.

She sighed and squinted at the darkness in front of her. The pools of water at her feet were slowly disappearing, and the ground was definitely sloping up. She strained her eyes against the blackness, which had taken on a grainy quality. The scent in the air was changing, too, a warm fetid note sliding under the chill dampness.

The graininess resolved itself into shadows, shadows into a steel circle, imperfectly fitted into the tunnel. As she heaved it out of the way, she saw the other side was faced with rotting plywood. Faint bars of light pierced the tunnel, illuminating a crude ladder built into the wall. "Man. You guys think of everything, huh?" she muttered to herself. "Is this it?" she asked Sarah.

"Uh-huh," the child nodded. "We go up the ladder to the alley."

"Stay here," she told the group, and scaled the ladder as quickly as she could. With one good shove, she pushed the grate up and levered herself out. She blinked at the sudden brightness and the overpowering scent of trash awaiting collection. The late afternoon sunlight slanted into the alley, but it failed to warm her. Drying mud covered her uniform.

"Ew," said Sarah, taking in Rogue's appearance. The other children made similar noises.

"Y'all don't look much better," she pointed out. "Hold on." She strode to the street, peered out cautiously. "South. There," she said, pointing to a gothic spire three blocks away. "Look about right?"

Sarah nodded eagerly. "That's it. Our Lady of Perpetual Help." She recited it proudly, like another child might show off their newly-memorized phone number.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Figures. Y'all couldn't find a nice First Baptist?" Her fingers hovered over the communicator, and she debated letting the team know they had gotten out. No, she decided. Better not to interrupt during a fight and risk being overheard. Besides, they weren't clear yet. She'd call them when the kids were tucked up safe in Sunday school, or whatever plan the Morlocks had. "Here's what we're gonna do," she said brightly, "We're gonna head to the church, just like it's Sunday mornin'. Don't look at the other people – don't run or rush. Just easy as you please, we're out for a stroll. Got it?"

"What if somebody stops us?" Sarah asked.

"Then you go on ahead, and Ah'll take care of it." She slipped one glove off and tucked it in a pocket. "But you'll still meet us at the church, right? You won't _leave_ us?" Panic tinged the small girl's voice.

"We'll be fine," she soothed. "But just in case, take this." Carefully, with her still-gloved hand, she handed the girl the communicator. "You press the X and talk, like a phone. If there's a problem, you tell Wolverine where you are, tell him what happened. He'll find you."

The child nodded mutely.

"Here we go, guys. Stick close, okay? Everybody on my right."

And they stepped out into the noise and bustle, eased into the flow of pedestrians. Her eyes swept the passersby, searching for anyone who looked at them too long, who looked hostile.

First block, past a bodega, a branch library, a pawn shop, a dry cleaners: Nothing.

Second block, past a liquor store, an empty storefront, a currency exchange, a hair salon: Nothing.

Third block, with the church looming just across the intersection, past a dilapidated apartment building plastered with demolition notices, and a man caught Rogue's glance, ducked his head, touched his ear.

She urged the children across the street and looked back over her shoulder casually. He had swung into the flow of pedestrians, but there was something about his gait – an air of overstudied nonchalance – that set off sirens in her head. "Quick," she hissed at the kids, hustling them up the wide stone steps. She hauled open the heavy wooden and glass door of the church and shoved the kids through, bursting into a hushed, cavernous room.

The sanctuary, smelling of beeswax and something both sickly-sweet and spicy, was overcome with their clattering entry. Several people scattered through the pews glanced up, their private devotions interrupted by the abrupt arrival. Rogue cast around for an adult and nearly sagged with relief when a short, broad woman in a grey tweed skirt and purple cardigan appeared from a side door.

"What on earth…" the woman began.

"We're looking for Will, please, ma'am. It's import—Sarah!" Rogue cried, as the small girl launched herself at the woman's sturdy frame with a cry.

"There's bad men in the tunnels, Will!" The child buried her face in the sensible skirt, and the woman patted her consolingly.

"Will?" Rogue said.

"Mother Wilhelmina, technically. Will is less of a mouthful." Already, she was ushering the children down the nave, steering them to the left of the altar, past rows of folding chairs that seemed incongruous in the vast wood and stone church. The floor under them, Rogue saw, was marked with some kind of maze that reminded her of the tunnels she had just escaped.  
"You're a nun? Where's your…you know…" Rogue gestured towards her head. "Head thing."

"I'm a priest. No habit, just the collar," she said wryly, and Rogue saw the band of starched white at her throat, a marked contrast to her burnt-caramel skin. The woman withdrew a massive key ring and opened a side door. "Quickly, quickly," she said, ushering Rogue through as well.

Will guided the children into a small room outfitted with sink and armoire. "Through the wardrobe, all of you." She opened the door of the cabinet, slid hangars of vestments and stoles to one side, along with the back panel, to reveal a door cut into the stone. "In you go," she said brusquely, motioning the children into the tiny room. Inside, Rogue spotted a kneeler, a crucifix, and a stained glass window fitted high into the opposite wall.

"Ah can't stay," Rogue said. "Are they really safe here?"

"Yes, but—"

"Somebody spotted us," she said roughly. "Ah gotta find him, keep him from bringing anyone else here. And Ah gotta find my friends." She looked through the doorway at the group of children huddled on a wooden bench. "Y'all did great. You listen to…Will, okay? Everything's gonna be jus' fine."

She turned to leave. "Thanks for takin' the kids," she said to Will.

"Of course. You're sure you won't stay?"

She shook her head and slipped out with a small wave. She stood on the stone steps, taking in the noise and movement of the street, scanning the block ahead of her. The man had been lounging against a bus shelter, but now it was empty.

"Where'd you go?" she wondered out loud, heading towards the plexiglass box. Reaching the shelter, she turned slowly, searching for the route he must have used. "Bingo," she muttered. The fence around the demolition site had been clipped and pulled aside, then hastily shoved back. Nonchalantly, she strolled to the fence and pushed it open.

A flash of movement closer to the building caught her eye, and she followed, breath quickening. She didn't want to attract any more attention than necessary – if the rest of the team was still fighting in the tunnels, she wouldn't have backup, and she dreaded trying to explain the situation to the police. _Honest, officer, Ah'm just exploring the sewers of your fine city. Urban spelunking. Mutants? No, sir, don't know anything about any mutants. Haven't met any big gators, either. Not round here, leastaways._ She sidled along the building, peeked her head around the side in time to see someone disappear under the yellow tape marking off the building as condemned.

"And here we go." She slid the last spike out of her belt, eased the door open, and stepped in.

The building was dark, the only light coming from a small window in the door. Pausing to listen, she heard footsteps on the narrow wooden staircase. She followed, wincing when the second step gave a high-pitched squeak.

A head appeared briefly above her, and then the footsteps were no longer stealthy, but pounding. She had no choice but to follow. She was gaining on him, though. Logan's training, the adrenaline from the chase, had her nearly flying up the stairs, and so she was unprepared when she reached the door to the roof, propped open with a few loose bricks.

She peered out cautiously. Her quarry was nowhere in sight, and she slipped out, flattening herself against the side of the doorway.

"You had t'come out here," she called. "Ah know you didn't get off on the other floors. You want t'do this or not?"

"Oh, definitely." Dane said, stepping into view, gun at the ready.

She whirled, momentarily stunned at the sallow, pinched face in front of her. "You?" Then reflexes and training kicked in, and she launched herself at him, knocking him over and loosening his hold on the gun. She sliced at his hand with the spike, cutting a bloody gash in his sleeve as the gun went skittering across the roof.

Dane rolled away and sprang to his feet. "You are a pain in the fucking ass," he grunted, swinging at her.

She ducked, lashed out with the spike. "Takes one t'know one, huh?" The razor sharp bone missed him by inches, and she circled back around, putting space between them. "This about me? Or the Morlocks?"

"Are you that stupid, little girl? I thought you lived at a school." He lunged at her and she jumped, kicking out and catching his shoulder. "Sewer rats are a bonus. You're where the real money is."

It was a setup, she realized, horrified. She reached for the communicator with one hand, swore bitterly when she realized she had left it with Sarah. "Lotta trouble just for me," she said, feinting with the spike.

"It's a lot of money." His kick glanced off her elbow, and she dropped her weapon.

Rogue stripped off the remaining glove. "Well, let's go, then." And the fight began.

The girl was better than he remembered, Dane thought, blocking her punch and throwing one of his own. Of course, she wasn't drugged. Still, he knew the journey through the tunnels with the kids had to be wearing on her. He had known that joining up with that idiot anti-mutant league would work. Salting the group with his employer's money and his own people had made them a real threat to the Morlocks. It was only a matter of time until the tunnel-dwellers called in the X-Men, and how could they resist a former teammate's SOS? Had Rogue not gone on this mission, they would have continued their attacks until the whole team was brought in, but luck had gone his way – finally – and when his lookout spied her exiting the jet, he knew it had worked. He really didn't care about the Morlocks, had no interest in the goals of the Friends. As soon as this was over, that link would be severed, and any fallout on the streets of New York was not his concern.

Rogue was beginning to see why Logan loved to fight. The speed, the danger, the tinge of recklessness was coursing through her body like music, and for once in her life, she knew the steps to the dance. Everything except the rooftop dropped away, bringing the fight into stark relief. She needed to get her hands on Dane, she thought – bring him in closer, knock him out, find out what was really going on. She needed to let him think he had the advantage, so when he swung at her next, she took the blow to the jaw, easing back just a little so she didn't get the worst of it. But her head snapped back nonetheless, and she went down, tasting iron at the corner of her mouth.

In the adrenaline rush, Rogue had forgotten the gun, had failed to mark where it fell. Dane hadn't, and while she shook her head to clear it, he raced to the edge and snatched it up, pointing it at the fallen girl.

Her eyes widened when she looked up to see him standing above her with the gun, but she forced herself to look contemptuous.

"Thought you said you needed me alive," she said.

"I do. That's why this is set to stun."

"You can't even handle a girl without knockin' her out, huh? Drugs, guns." Her eyes flicked over him and she lip curled in a sneer. _Come a little closer, asshole. _"Kinda sad, really. Thought you were the big man. Guess not."

His foot caught her in the stomach, and she collapsed in the gravel, swallowing bile. He waited until she had clambered back up on all fours, swearing a blue streak the whole time.

"You've got a mouth, don't you?" he asked, taking a step nearer.

"Fuck you," she spat, brushing gravel from her face._ Just a few steps more_.

He studied her for a minute. He didn't really want to use the stun gun – it would mean carrying her eight long flights down, then two city blocks to the van with an unconscious girl slung over his shoulder. Even in New York, people would look at that strangely. "You want to walk out with me, or you want to be carried? I really don't care."

"Walk," she said, forcing resignation into her voice.

"Then lie down."

Her eyes flew to him, and she didn't move.

"Now." He took another step, raised the gun. "Get on your goddamn stomach!"

And that was how Remy found them, Dane with a gun pointed at his girl, Rogue on her hands and knees, blood smeared across her cheek, one bare hand braced on the ledge of the roof, the other clenching and unclenching the gravel beneath her. Instinct took over, and he threw the card, a sparking ruby arc. The gun exploded.

Rogue jerked back at the blast and then, seeing her chance, threw the handful of gravel at Dane's face before tackling him. Snarling and half-blinded, his wild kick caught her squarely in the chest, knocking her backward against the roof ledge.

Remy watched in horror as her momentum tumbled her backward off the roof. "Rogue!" Dane was forgotten, and he raced to the ledge she had fallen from. Peering over, he saw her grasping one-handedly the bottom ledge of the mansard roof. Her legs kicked wildly as she twisted, trying for a better grip.

Where the hell had Gambit come from, Dane wondered. There had been no mention of him leaving the jet with the rest of the X-Men. Was the rest of the team on the way?

"Hold on, _chere_!" He whirled, the bo-staff lashed out in a blur of silver, and Dane went flying across the roof. The hunk of concrete he was about to strike Remy with tumbled to the ground, forgotten.

"You want to settle this now?" Dane sneered. "We can do this, or you can go save your girlfriend. Your choice." Inwardly, he seethed. His luck wasn't holding – he couldn't go after the girl _and_ take out Gambit – and if the rest of the team appeared, he was beyond screwed.

There wasn't any choice, not for Remy, not this time. "I will kill you." Remy said, turning his back on the oily little man. "Next time I see you, you be dead."

He barely noticed when Dane vanished down the stairs.

"Remy?" gasped Rogue. "Little help here?" She had managed to grab the limestone trim with both hands, he saw, and her toes were scrabbling for purchase in the faded brick.

"I'm here, _chere_. I'm here. Y'gonna be fine." He leaned over as far as he could, but he couldn't reach her.

"Can Ah reach that window to the left?" she asked, forced calm making her hoarse. "Ah can't tell."

Remy scanned the side of the building. The window was at least ten feet away. Rogue would have to inch along the building, with crumbling trim her only means of support. "Don' t'ink so, _chere_. Jus' hang on."

"Don't have much choice, do Ah?" She closed her eyes, tried to focus. The stone was biting into her bare hands, which were growing slick with fear.

"Rogue. You gon' have t'climb back up." He tried to keep the strian out of his voice.

Now a note of fear crept in. "Ah can't."

"Sure you can. Jus' a li'l bit, till I can reach you. Move your right foot first."

She tried to obey, but the brick underneath disintegrated and her legs flailed, trying to dig in again. She felt, rather than heard, the crack in the trim above her widen. "Remy! It's gonna break!" She was losing her grip, she thought.

"No it ain't. C'mon, _chere_. Try 'gain."

"Remy?" The pleading, frantic tone tore into him. She was right, he thought. The trim wouldn't hold her weight for much longer and the brick she was using for traction was crumbling away. The bo-staff was too smooth, he knew. He could lower it to her, but she'd slide right off the end, a horror movie version of a firehouse pole. He searched the roof. There was nothing that could help, he thought. Nothing here that would help him reach her in time…

And time jerked, and it was Paris, and he was too late.

Time jerked again, and he heard the crashing of the sea, and he was too late.

"It's comin' loose, Remy._ Please_." The tears in her voice broke something loose in him, and he jerked back to the present. Whipping the belt off his coat, he knotted one end and dangled it over the side.

"Dis' far 'nough?"

"No." The belt swung like a pendulum above her head.

"Reach for it. Push off a little."

"It won't hold," she rasped. She could feel it – if she let go with one hand, the weight transfer would put too much stress on the building, and the trim would break away. "Ah'll fall." She tilted her head back, looked at him. White face under white makeup, green eyes burning and brimming.

He shook his head. "I ain't gonna let you fall, _chere_. I ain't gonna let you fall. But you gotta give me somet'in to work wit, hein? You gotta jump."

"Remy." Her voice cracked.

"Rogue. Don' argue, now." The break in the limestone widened, eighty years of neglect coming to a head at the worst possible moment. "We ain't got time. You jump. On three. Trust me."

She was silent except for her ragged breathing.

"One." Slowly, she pulled one foot up, then the other, bracing her toes in the hollows where mortar had fallen out.

"Two." He leaned out as far as he dared, giving her a few more precious inches. Rogue angled her body towards the gently swaying belt and tensed for the jump.

"Three!" She pushed off, urging her body higher, making one desperate reach for the belt, and her fingers closed over knotted cloth. She slapped the other hand a few inches higher, clung.

Immediately, Remy began hauling her up. "Walk your way up, _chere_. Like you climbin' a mountain."

She didn't say anything, but he watched as her boots dug into the crumbling brick, face rigid with concentration.

"Good girl. Keep goin'." She reached the ledge, threw one arm over, then the other, and Remy reached out and pulled her over, tucking her into him and curling around her.

"You okay." It wasn't a question. "You did it."

She burrowed her head into him, shaking violently. He rocked her back and forth, unsure which of them he was trying to soothe.

* * *

He didn't know how long they stayed on the roof, but eventually the tremors stopped. Rogue pulled back slightly, dark lashes damp against pale, crimson-streaked cheeks.

"That's twice," she said softly.

"Twice what?" He brushed his lips across her hair.

"Twice you…saved me." The words caught in her throat, but she forced them out as she pulled on her gloves. "Thank you."

He took her hands again, pressed a kiss into the palm. "You're welcome."

"How'd you find me?"

"Kitty. An' Spyke. An' the lady priest."

She followed the logic, somehow. "But how'd you know Ah was up here?"

He stood, unfolding arms and legs, but not letting go of Rogue's hand. "We should go," he said. "Dane could come back. You okay to walk?"

"Yeah." She nodded, but didn't protest when he slipped a steadying arm around her waist.

"How'd you know Ah was on the roof?" she asked again as they picked their way down the stairs.

He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. "Felt you," he said after they had navigated another flight.

"You're telepathic now?" she said skeptically.

"Not a telepath. No thoughts, jus' emotions."

"All the time?"

"Non. Most o' de time, I block it. But I open it up if I need to."

She considered. "So you just opened up and said, hey, where's Rogue?"

Remy chuckled. "Figured you were pissed, keyed up. Mebbe a little worried." Worried was putting it mildly, he thought. "Stopped blocking, tried to feel that. Played hot and cold till de feelin was real strong." He flashed a grin. "Den I looked up." He didn't think it was necessary to add that he could always sense her feelings, that undercurrent of grief and guilt swirled with resolve, a constant counterpoint to her other emotions. For a while, he had tested it, deliberately trying to shut out the current of her feelings. Each time, she seeped back into his blood. And surprised as he was to find that he couldn't block her out, he was more surprised to find he didn't particularly want to.

"Lucky me," she said.

"Lucky me," he countered. They reached the ground floor, and he noted her shakiness. "Sit," he said, tugging her to the bottom step. "You did good."

"Remy, Ah fell off the damn _roof_."

He looked at her shrewdly. "You were fakin', non? Let him knock you down so he'd get close enough to touch?"

She inspected the muddy sleeve of her uniform. "Yeah. But it didn't work."

"Would have, if I hadn't come in. I jus'…I saw de gun. Didn't want t'risk him usin' it." He wrapped his arms around her, rested his chin on her head. "Some t'ings you gamble wit, _chere_. Some t'ings you don't."

"Ugh," she said after a moment, pushing him away. "Let go. Ah've been crawlin' around in sewers, Remy. Ah'm gross."

His arms tightened. "Y'beautiful. Don' care what you been doin'."

"Ah'm a mess. Let go."

He turned her face toward him, skimmed a gloved thumb across her cheek. "Watched you almost fall, Rogue. Does sometin' to a man, he sees de woman he..." Remy caught himself, barely. "…sees his girl in trouble. So I ain't lettin' go."

She mustered enough energy to raise an eyebrow. "Your girl, huh?" she said, trying not to smile.

"Oui." He pulled her back in. "Get used to it."

The sound of the fence outside crashing to the ground had them jerking apart. "Stay here," he said, pulling out a deck and charging the cards.

"Stripes never stays where she's supposed to," said Logan, stepping into the building. "Good luck with that, bub. You," he added, turning to Rogue, "were supposed to stay with the kids. I told you to stay with them."

She blinked at him innocently. "Ah went radio-silent," she said. "You must've said that after Ah turned off the communicator."

"Smart-ass." He studied her. Filthy and blood-smeared, a bruise blossoming along her jaw. "You're okay?"

"Yeah. It was Dane, Logan. All of it. The whole thing was a trap."

"So we heard." At Remy's questioning glance, he added, "Couple of the Friends talked. Seems like Dane pulled his people out pretty quick when he couldn't grab you. What happened?"

"Long story." She couldn't talk about it, not yet, not even to him. Didn't know how to make the words come out right, to explain how she had imagined falling, just like Mystique, and how, for an instant, it seemed like redemption. "Where's everyone else?"

He wanted to push, find out what had caused the acrid, curdled scent of her fear. From behind Rogue, Remy caught his eye and shook his head, mouthing "Later."

"Kids are still at the church. Left Shadowcat and Nightcrawler there, since they were in town." He glared at Remy, who shrugged.

"You ever try t'argue wit de _petite_? She tougher dan she look."

Logan continued, ignoring Remy. "Everyone else is back in the tunnels, cleaning up."

Tiredly, Rogue scrubbed her hands over her face. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Some broken bones, a few concussions. Cuts and scrapes. Couple of the Morlocks still waking up from the stun guns."

She nodded. Once again, she thought, her fault. Spyke's new family and home endangered because of her.

"Hey." Logan's voice was rough. "Knock it off."

"What?" she asked bleakly.

"You didn't do this."

She didn't say anything, just hugged herself, chilled. Remy draped his coat around her.

"The Friends were coming after them no matter what. Dane speeded things up, but now they're out in the open. Spyke knows what he's up against now."

"They found the tunnels."

"Cyke's got some ideas. It'll be okay. You got the kids out. You held your own with Dane," he added, gently laying a hand on her head. "You did great, kid."

Fatigue was swamping her, the last dregs of her adrenaline dissolving. She swayed on her feet and Remy hooked an arm around her waist. "Easy," he said. "You heard him, _chere_. It's okay. Let's get you home."


	22. Repercussions

And we're back! Mille grazie to Katt8 for the beta and idea-bouncing services, and also for her unparalleled nagging skills. Thanks to all of my kind reviewers, too – I write more when I think people are interested, and so you've been a big help.

A couple of formal author's notes – **the rating has been bumped to R** due to language, in case you didn't see that on your way in. Also, I think we can safely say that this is now an Evo-based AU.

Anyway, here it is. For those of you still playing along at home, a brief recap of what happened last time…

Storm, Logan, Scott, and Rogue were called out to help Spyke and the Morlocks with a new anti-mutant group, the Friends. Shortly after they arrived, the Friends attacked again, entering the tunnels for the first time. Spyke went to help the rest of the Morlocks, asking Rogue to transport a small group of Morlock children to a nearby safe house. En route, she realized they had been spotted, and went after the person who had seen her. It turned out that Dane had set the entire attack up, including bankrolling weapons and extra members for the Friends, as a way to draw her out into the open.

Meanwhile, Remy talked Kitty into telling him where Rogue had gone, and ended up bringing her and Kurt with him to New York. He went after Rogue, only to find her fighting on a rooftop with Dane. When he tried to help, Dane knocked Rogue over the edge and escaped, leaving Remy to help her to safety. They were snuggly. Remy said a little more than he meant to. And now, they've arrived home after their adventure. Enjoy.

* * *

Later, he tucked her in, settling the duvet across her shoulders. She sulked up at him, and tried to sit. "Ah'm not an invalid, Remy."

"A little rest gon' hurt, _chere_? _Non_." He brushed a lock of white out of her face. "Get some sleep."

"Ah slept on the jet," she grumbled. Just because she had jerked awake each time she drifted off didn't mean she hadn't slept. Remy looked at her dubiously, and Rogue quickly changed tactics.

"Don't you want to stay?" She turned her head and caught his gloved fingertip between her teeth. "Keep me company?"

With an effort, he stood and took a step back. "Don' tink dat be real restful," he said, his voice sounding strangled. "B'sides, feel funny crashin' here with Kitty in de nex' bed."

"I can stay in Amara's room," piped Kitty, sticking her head through the door. She wasn't eavesdropping, really; she just didn't want to interrupt.

Remy shook his head. "C'mon in, Kitty-cat." As she phased completely into the room, he turned to Rogue. "I come back later, check on you."

"Ah'm fine, Remy."

"Yeah. You are." He blew her a kiss. "Jus' a li'l rest." In a low voice, he told Kitty, "Don' leave de room. Stay right here. She has bad dreams, you send someone t'get me, but you stay right here. _Comprens_?"

Kitty nodded. "Thanks," she said softly. "I'm glad you were right."

"Me too." He slipped into the hallway. Food. He needed food. And maybe a few shots of bourbon. Anything to take his mind of the images of the day. Rogue, snarling up at Dane while he held a gun to her. Frantically trying to right herself as she vanished over the side of the roof. The whiteness of her knuckles as she clung to the broken trim. Pellets of mortar falling down eight long stories. "Maybe more'n a few," he muttered, heading downstairs.

He was digging through the refrigerator, assembling a plate of leftovers, when he sensed someone behind him.

"Rogue's asleep?" Logan asked without preamble.

"Will be soon. Kitty wit her." He piled slices of roast chicken on a plate and took out the container of mashed potatoes, setting it on the marble island.

"She hurtin'?" On the plane ride home, and later in the med room, Rogue had refused to absorb Logan. _Ah earned these,_ she had told him with a weary pride._ Let me have somethin' t'show for it._

"Henri gave her some pills," Remy said, spooning gravy over the entire plate.

Logan opened the refrigerator and pulled out a drumstick. "Good. You wanna tell me exactly what happened up there?"

Remy slid the plate into the microwave, set the timer. "Came in, saw Dane holdin' a gun on her. Tossed a card, and Rogue tried to take him. He kicked her over."

"Jesus." Logan ran a hand through his hair, the picture of Rogue dangling from the building vivid in his mind's eye. "Was it close?" he growled.

Remy hesitated a second too long.

"How close, Gumbo?" The growl intensified.

Remy pulled out a deck without realizing it and began to shuffle. "You saw de buildin'. Old brick, trim breakin' up. Close," he admitted. "She did good, kept it together. She's a scrapper."

"Damn straight." He bit into the drumstick more ferociously than Remy thought strictly necessary. "You pulled her back up." It wasn't a question.

"Las' I heard, flyin' not her power," Remy snapped. "'Course I did."

Leaning back against the counter, Logan studied him for a long moment. "Yeah. Thanks for that." He opened the refrigerator again, pulled out a bottle of beer. He winced reflexively when the professor's perfectly modulated voice sounded inside his head. _Gentlemen, if you have a few moments to spare? My office, please._

Remy shook his head as if to clear it and pulled his plate out of the microwave, snagging a fork from a nearby drawer. "Hope he don' mind if I eat," he muttered, heading toward the door.

"Hey, Gumbo," called Logan.

Remy glanced back and caught the beer one-handed. He lifted an eyebrow at Logan, who shrugged.

"Just don't spill it, okay? Those carpets are a bitch to clean."

* * *

"Thank you both for coming." The professor glanced up from the tea he was fixing and handed the cup to Ororo. "I wanted to get your input on the day's events."

"We're trying to piece together what we can about Dane based on what happened in the tunnels," she added, sitting elegantly on the couch. "A profile, if you will."

Logan strode to the window, stared out into the night. "Dane's not the important part."

"What is?" Ororo asked.

"Whoever behind him," Remy answered, before Logan could speak. "Dane a contract player. He don' care bout Rogue, he jus' snatchin' her for someone else." He sat down on a chair and began to eat.

"You're right, of course," said the professor. "Both of you. Still, until we discover who hired Dane, it seems prudent to analyze his behavior and try to predict what his next move will be."

Remy said nothing, just took a swig of beer and a bite of chicken. Logan craned his neck for a better view of the water outside.

"This took planning," Ororo said eventually. "And patience – how was Dane to know that Rogue would go on today's mission?"

"I suspect he didn't," the professor mused. "He must have been prepared to continue the attacks until we sent the entire team."

"Took money, too," Logan said. "The Friends were small-time. To ramp up that fast, with those weapons, cost a boatload of cash, Chuck. Whoever hired Dane has deep pockets."

"True," replied Xavier. "The attacks intensified only a few days after the first abduction attempt."

"It's quite a risk," Ororo mused. "To knowingly take on the Morlocks _and_ the X-Men, just to draw Rogue out."

"Stakes are high, you gonna take a big risk," Remy pointed out. "Y'play for keeps."

The professor inclined his head, acknowledging Remy's words.

"He needs her alive," said Logan, prowling the room. "He's said that, right?"

"Twice," Remy agreed.

"They want her powers," Ororo said.

"Not necessarily," said the professor. "Rogue is quite valuable as leverage, I'm afraid."

Remy straightened, put down his fork. "How?" he asked, fighting down a rising unease.

"She's a key member of the X-Men and one of my charges," the professor said wearily. "It's no secret that I would go to great lengths to secure her safety."

"You'd do that for all the kids," Logan said. "If that's the case, why single her out? Why not grab Jamie, or Amara? They'd put up less of a fight."

"Rogue's mutation has the potential to be singularly devastating, as we've learned with Apocalypse. Even against her will, the havoc she can wreak is tremendous. The need to direct those powers appropriately played a large part in my desire to recruit her."

"To steal her would be to possess both a weapon and a pawn," Ororo said softly.

"A pawn ain't real useful 'till de last row," Remy said.

The professor turned to him, surprised.

"What? I don't jus' play cards."

"So it would seem. Yes, a pawn has unlimited potential, used correctly."

"This is pointless," Logan snarled. "She's not a fuckin' chess piece, Chuck. Lay off the metaphor and let's figure out how to protect her."

"It is unlikely that Dane will strike again immediately," said Ororo. "He's demonstrated patience thus far."

Xavier nodded. "I concur. It seems doubtful that he would attempt a frontal attack."

"Don' know if he'd want to try anyway," said Remy. "She held her own wit' him today. Dane was lookin' pretty bad when I got there."

"He's gonna look worse when I track him down," said Logan, absently flexing his hands.

"Get in line, _homme_."

"Perhaps we could focus on the matter at hand," Ororo suggested. "How do we protect Rogue?"

The professor smiled just a little. "Oh, I'm certain she'll have some ideas about that herself." He turned to the door. "Come in, Rogue."

The door swung open, and a scowling Rogue appeared, clad in a t-shirt and pajama pants. She zipped up her sweatshirt as she entered. "Didn't anyone ever tell y'all it's rude to talk about someone when they're not in the room?"

Logan rumbled, "You're supposed to be in bed."

"Ah was. Now Ah'm not."

"Kitty was s'posed t'be watchin' you," said Remy, frowning.

She tilted her head, took in the scene before her. "You told Kitty to stay in the room, not me. You also said you were goin' to eat dinner."

Remy gestured to the plate in front of him, beer dangling from one hand. "Dinner," he said smugly. "Never said where I'd eat it."

"Sit down, Rogue," said Ororo, motioning to a spot next to her on the couch. "You must be exhausted."  
"Ah'm fine," she said, but sat anyway. "What'd Ah miss?"

Remy leaned forward, glib excuse at the ready, but the professor merely smiled again. "We were discussing how best to go about protecting you from Dane, should he make another attempt."

"And he'll try again, kid." Logan spoke from the corner, watching her closely.

She nodded. "Ah know."

"We need to figure out who hired Dane," said Ororo. "It's the only way to guarantee your safety, Rogue. We've seen the lengths to which he will go."

"Hey, I'm all for trackin' down the man behind the curtain," said Logan. "But until we do that, you stay here."

Rogue's eyes narrowed. "Stay where, exactly?"

"At the mansion. I can protect you here."

Remy recognized the dangerous gleam in Rogue's eyes and leaned back, ready to enjoy the show.

"Ah can protect myself," she said, straightening. "Why the hell am Ah gettin' up at four-thirty in the damn mornin' if you think Ah can't?"

The professor cut in smoothly. "I think what Logan is trying to say is that we can control the situation here, Rogue. Away from the mansion, even with chaperones, the risk increases significantly."

"There's always a risk," she said, shaking her head. "Every time we go out on a mission, we're takin' a risk."

"_Fille_ got a point," Remy drawled, dancing a bottle cap over his knuckles. "Chancy stuff ain't new to y'all."

Logan glared at Remy before turning back to Rogue. "This is different, kid. We go on missions 'cause we have to, not just for kicks."

"Dane is targeting you specifically, Rogue, and he has proven to be ruthless." Ororo laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Perhaps for the time being, it would be best if you did not leave the Institute."

"No missions," said Logan. He hated to say it, knew what he was taking away from her. But there was no way he would let her walk into a trap like that again. "He could try for another setup. And you stay on the grounds."

"That's not fair," Rogue said tightly. She was nearly vibrating with fury, but she kept her voice controlled and even. "Ah've done everything you've asked since this started, Professor. Ah've gone to all of my sessions with you and with Logan. Ah've kept up in my classes, come to dinner. Ah got those kids out and safe and Ah was holdin' my own with Dane. This is my reward?"

Xavier regarded her sympathetically. "I know how frustrating this must be, Rogue. Please remember that we are merely looking out for your best interests."

"There's gotta be another way," she pleaded. "Please, Professor. It's just not fair."

"What 'bout a compromise?" Remy offered. "Dane's always hit when she was alone. And he wants it quiet – dat why he drugged her de first time, got her up on de roof today. If she's got someone with her…"

"Like you?" Logan challenged.

"Like anyone," Remy said calmly, refusing to rise to the bait. The cap glinted between his fingers, quick and smooth. "If dey stay close, stay out in public, don' t'ink Dane gonna try somethin' dat bold."

"We cannot predict Dane's behavior at this point, but I think it is safe to assume that he is growing impatient," Xavier pointed out. He studied the teacup for a moment, then set it down. "For now, Rogue, I think a compromise is in order. You may leave the mansion to attend school. One of the staff will accompany you and the rest of the students, both coming and going. If you should want to leave the grounds for any other reason, you must first clear it with me—"

"—And me," growled Logan.

The professor merely continued, "and you must be accompanied by a senior staff member the entire time."

Rogue sat back on the couch. Remy caught her sullen glance across the room and gave her an encouraging one in turn. It was the best offer she would get, he was certain.

Xavier spoke again, regret obvious in his tone. "I must agree with Logan as regards your inclusion on missions, Rogue."

Her head whipped back towards the professor. "But –"

"Child," Ororo said quietly. "You handled yourself beautifully today. Without your assistance, those children could have been injured, or worse. Evan told me how very grateful he was for your presence."

Rogue ducked her head. "They were in danger because of me."

"No. They were in danger because of small-minded ignorance and bigotry. You are not responsible for the actions of the Friends, nor Dane's influence. But if we can avoid giving Dane the opportunity to strike against the team again, then we must."

"Ah get it," Rogue said softly, nodding. Then her voice hardened and her gaze swung up to Logan. "But Ah don't have t'like it."

Remy stood, tossing the bottle cap in the air and catching it without looking. "Enough f'now, hein? Let's get you tucked back in, _chere_."

A muscle jumped in Logan's jaw, but he stayed silent. Rogue turned to the professor. "Can Ah go?"

"Of course. We'll talk in the morning."

Remy placed his hand on the small of her back and steered her out. "Jus' settle down," he hissed in her ear as they rounded a corner. "You ain't gon' win any points pitchin' a fit."

"What are they gonna do? Ground me?" She blinked back angry tears.

"Dey tryin' t'keep you safe," he said mildly, reaching for the doorknob to her room. "Not such a bad idea."

"You're agreeing with them now?" She rounded on him, temper splintering. "Jesus, Remy! If Ah wanted a boy scout, Ah'd go chasin' after Scott again."

His eyes darkened and he slammed the door open. Kitty jumped, eyes round and startled. "Hey, you two. I was just going to go visit Amara for a little bit." She shut her laptop and stood up, nearly knocking her chair over in an attempt to escape.

"Kit, you don't need to leave," Rogue protested, shooting Remy a dirty look. "Swamp rat's not staying. Ah'm all talked out."

"De hell you are. Roof. Now." He took her arm and propelled her to the window.

She goggled at him. "In case you've forgotten," she said haughtily, jerking her arm away, "Ah've spent enough time on a roof for one day. Ah'm not goin back up there."

He studied her flushed, angry form. She had wrapped her arms tightly around herself, and she wouldn't meet his eyes. His fury and hurt dissolved in the face of her panic, but he kept his face skeptical. "Scared o'heights?" he asked.

Kitty perched on the corner of her bed and watched the pair, fascinated. Remy was good, no doubt about it. It was exactly the right button to push, as long as Rogue didn't snap and drain his powers until he passed out and shut up. She was tempted, just a little, to phase up through the ceiling and watch it all play out.

"Ah'm not scared," Rogue snapped. "But Ah'm not goin' up there."

"Makes sense," he said over his shoulder to Kitty. "She tol' you 'bout Dane?"

Kitty bobbed her head.

"De _fille_ gon' be spooked a while yet, my guess."

"Ah'm not spooked!"

His voice oozed mock sympathy. "Course not, _chere_. You jus…tired. She sulkin', too," he added, turning to face Kitty. "Mus' be hard, livin' wit such a moody little river rat."

"I – I – manage," Kitty choked out, as Rogue's eyes glittered maliciously.

"Ah. Am. Not. Sulkin'."

"S'okay, Rogue. Every fille need time t'pout. Southern girls jus' need a li'l more." And wasn't that the truth, he thought wryly.

"Ah'm not sulkin' and Ah'm not scared. Get it through your thick Cajun skull, LeBeau. Ah just don't want to go up there with you."

"Prove it," he said.

"Prove what?"

"If you ain't scared, then go on up. I won't stay and bother you."

"You're botherin' me now."

He smiled lazily. "Prove you can do it, I leave you alone."

She clenched her fists convulsively and set her shoulders. "Fine." She threw the window open and stopped short, suddenly overwhelmed by the distance to the ground. One hand gripped the window frame, knuckles whitening.

Remy came up behind her and rested a hand on her waist. "Get back on de horse, _chere_."

"Screw you _and_ your horse, swamp rat," she tossed back. Annoyance and pride trumped her fear, and she swung a leg out, clambered up.

Kitty tossed him the soft pink blanket at the foot of her bed. "It's chilly," she pointed out innocently when Remy looked askance at her. "See you later!" She phased through the door, anxious to tell Amara all the gory details.

He joined Rogue on the roof a moment later. She was sitting pressed against the chimney, knees to her chest, staring out at the water. She didn't move when he sat next to her.

"That's a stupid cliché," she said, keeping her eyes on the horizon.

"Cliché cause it's true."

"Still stupid."

"Yeah. Worked, though."

She snorted. "You think Ah didn't see what you were up to?"

"_Non_. You too busy bein' pissy 'bout Xavier's new rules."

"Talk about stupid."

"He's lookin' out f'you. Dey all are."

She didn't say anything, but she leaned across him to pick up the blanket he had brought. "Scoot forward," she instructed, and slung the pink chenille around his shoulders. Then she settled herself between his knees and leaned back into him. He wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the light scent of her shampoo.

"Nice night," he said. "Weather ain't too bad yet."

"It's comin', though. Where you gonna put the moves on me when it's too cold to come up here?"

"I'm a creative thinker. Figure somethin' out. B'sides, t'ink you puttin' de moves on me."

"You wish," she laughed. But she didn't move away, and he rubbed his hands lightly up and down her arms.

"So," she said finally. "What are we doin'?" When his hands stopped and tightened for a second, she laughed again. "About _Dane_."

"Oh. Dane. Right." He gave himself a mental shake and then shrugged. "Not lookin' much past tomorrow, _chere_. He'll try to hit you again. We make sure we ready."

"Yeah." She pressed herself closer against him, soaking up the warmth of his body through their clothing. Resting her cheek along the narrow ribs of his sweater, she smelled the lightest hint of tobacco, of spice and coffee and soap under it all. "Y'know," she said, "When Ah joined up with the X-Men, freezin' my ass off on the Blackbird and Logan sayin' I had to choose – Ah knew there wasn't ever gonna be a normal. We're mutants, right? Normal for us wouldn't really be normal."

"Kind o'de point o'bein' mutants, I guess," he said lightly, willing her to keep talking. Exhaustion, the blow of Xavier's new rules, the stress of coming back up on the roof – somehow the combination had cracked the wall Rogue used to keep him at bay, and he wanted to get through as many of the chinks as he could before she rebuilt.

"Still," she continued, "It might be nice, you know. Just for a little while. Plain ol' normal – no bad guys, no combat trainin', no savin' the world. Just normal – it might be nice."

"Normal ain't really my strong suit," he said apologetically. And that was putting it mildly. Most mutants developed their powers when they hit adolescence, but Remy's eyes had marked him as a mutant as soon as he was born, branded and burdened and betrayed him until normal was nothing but a bedtime story. Normal wouldn't sit well with him now, would ring as falsely as paying cash. The naked longing in her voice had him wondering, though.

"What would you do?" His voice was gentle. "If you could touch?"

"Ah'd go dancin," she said softly. "Ah'd go to the movies and share my popcorn with Kitty. Extra butter, too. Ah'd tickle Kurt, just to make him bamf. Ah'd get a tan. Ah'd play Marco Polo in the summer."

"You don't play Marco Polo?"

"Ah can't swim if there's anyone else in the pool."

He tightened his arms around her, but said nothing.

"Ah'd kiss you," she said quietly, intensely. "God, Ah'd kiss you forever, Remy."

Something in his throat constricted. "Long time, f'ever."

"You complainin'?" She turned carefully to face him, placing one foot on either side of his hips and resting her hands on his shoulders.

"_Pas d'tout_. Let's go out," he said abruptly.

She tore herself away from the image of Remy's mouth on hers. "We are out," she said absently, flipping a hand towards the blue-black sky.

"Out, Rogue. On a date. Like normal people."

She rolled her eyes. "Weren't you listenin' in there? Ah can't go out." Logan might be grateful enough to give Remy a beer from his personal stash – and she _had_ noticed that, despite her anger at the time – but he wasn't so grateful that he'd okay dinner and a movie.

"You can't leave de grounds," he pointed out. "Not de same t'ing. You want t'be normal, _chere_, here's y'chance."

"Hangin' out up here ain't a date."

"Never said we'd come up here. Like it up here," he said, closing his hands on her hips and pulling her closer, "but it ain't what I had in mind. Say yes, 'less you scared."

She stared at him, too distracted by the warmth of his breath on her neck to get properly indignant.

"You put on a fancy dress. I pick you up. _Dieu,chere_. We ain't negotiatin' peace in de Middle East. It's a date."

"A fancy dress?" she echoed, dumbfounded.

"_Oui_," he said.

"Ah…Ah guess," she stuttered.

"Y'could be a little more enthusiastic, _chere_."

She grinned despite herself. "Savin that for the end of the date, sugar." She tried to give him a sultry look, but spoiled the effect by yawning widely.

"C'mon," he said. "We ain't sleepin' out here." He ran his hands lightly over her arms one last time. Even knowing what her skin could do, he couldn't resist touching her – the casual arm around her waist, the light brush of lips against her hair or shoulder, the slow, deliberate slide of his hand up the long, lean muscle of her thigh. He wanted to sink into her, to bury himself in her, to absorb her the way she had absorbed him, and the very thought had him scrambling back. "It's late," he said, neatly cutting off her protest. "Y'need t'sleep. C'mon," he repeated, standing and helping her up. "I'll stay a li'l longer."

There was something unreadable in her eyes when she looked up at him. "Promise?"

"Jus' did."

* * *

Logan didn't take his eyes from the amber rectangle of Rogue's window when Ororo approached.

"Save it."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say." She studied Logan's profile. The anger was there, she thought, hovering over everything like the fog that had encroached upon the mansion's grounds. But something else was coiled underneath it. "It worries you, their relationship."

"So?"

"She cares for him."

"She's a kid."

"Perhaps. But she cares for him, Logan, and he makes her happy."

"He's gonna break her heart. She'll get hurt."

She watched as Rogue carefully lowered herself to the window, Remy keeping a light hold on her wrist until she was safely inside. "Quite probably."

"And you're okay with that?" He bit off the end of a fresh cigar, spat it on the ground.

She kept her eyes on light from Rogue's room, speaking again after it had darkened. "What would you do, Logan? Would you deny her happiness to keep her from grief?"

He was silent, staring at the now-black window. He didn't know the answer, he discovered, and the realization jarred him. "I should have seen it comin'. I should have known it was a trap."

"I was the mission leader," she said mildly. "I had studied the pattern of the attacks, and still failed to make the connection. If anyone is to blame, Logan," she began.

He cut her off. "It's not the same. I should have seen it," he repeated. "She could've—"

"She didn't. Let that be enough for now."

Logan didn't answer, merely stared at the window with his jaw set. Ororo watched him wordlessly, and finally returned to the mansion alone.

* * *

Remy watched her drift off, one arm crooked under her head, the other grasping his sweater lightly. The streak in her hair gleamed silver, and he pulled back the fingertips of his glove to brush it back from her face, entranced by the feel of the strands against his skin. At the curve of her jaw was a livid bruise, and for a moment, his fingers hovered over it, anger spurting through him.

Rogue stirred and pressed closer against him. "Remy?"

His words, rough with delayed fear and anger, smoothed in an instant. "I'm here. Gonna have t'go in a li'l bit."

He could feel her nod against his chest. A few minutes passed, and her voice floated up, thick and sleepy. "Remy?"

"Still here," he said, smiling into her hair.

"Y'ever been in love before?"

The smile died on his face and he went still. She was drifting off again before he answered.

"Tried, once. Didn't really take."

"What d'y'mean?" She tilted her head back to see him better, but she was struggling against the fatigue of the day, and her eyes fluttered closed against her will.

"I couldn't. Don' know why, really. Would've made everyt'ing easy," he said softly. "Wasn't any reason not t'be in love wit her, an' lots o'reasons I should've. I jus'…couldn't," he said, the worn-down sensation of helplessness swallowing him again in an instant.

"Why? Why not?" This was important, she thought dimly. And yet she couldn't make herself wake up fully, couldn't pull herself up through the layers of sleep to get a better read on him.

"Don' know, 'xactly. Guess it scared me."

"So y'left?" There was no blame in her voice, so low and dusky that he wanted to wrap it around himself like a blanket.

"I left." He gave a bitter half-smile at all that short sentence didn't tell. "I was a kid. Got scared, Rogue."

"Ah think it's s'posed t'be a little scary," she murmured. "Lovin' someone."

He touched her hair again, closed his eyes briefly. "Mebbe. Mebbe de trick is not t'run."

She gave a small noise of assent, and her breathing slowed.

"How 'bout you?" he asked.

The corner of her mouth curved, and she said drowsily, "Not sure. Ah'll let you know how it turns out, though."

"Much obliged, _chere,_" he said, and watched as her hand loosened on his sweater, dropping down to the sheet between them. Carefully, he disentangled arms and legs, and listened to the creaking and settling of the mansion around him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, eyes like coals in the dark. "Not runnin' now," he said, faintly defensive. There was no reply, from his reflection or from Rogue.

He let himself out.

* * *

Dane shifted uncomfortably on the warehouse's cement floor. The man opposite him sat at a steel desk, half-shadowed. Further back in the darkness, near the corner, someone – _something_ – stood at the ready.

His employer regarded him with obvious disgust. "And so, Mr. Dane, you have failed to acquire the girl. Again."

"It was the guy. He wasn't supposed to show up." With an effort, Dane stopped his excuses and tried to remember exactly how far it was from the desk to the exit.

"You have cost me a considerable amount of money. Your fee was ridiculously high, but you came to me so highly recommended. I am disappointed." Fingers drummed meticulously on the desktop. "Perhaps I should be seeking…_restitution_."

He tried to wipe his palms unobtrusively on his pants. "I can deliver. I just need a little more time."

"Why should I grant you time? You have done nothing but waste it since the moment I hired you. Tell me, why should I not kill you now? Make your argument a compelling one, Mr. Dane."

He drew in a ragged breath, scrambling for a plan. "I know her," he said quickly. "I know every weakness, every soft spot. I know her routines, I can predict what she'll do."

"I don't want you to play chess with the girl, you incompetent toad."

"She's been training," he said desperately. "She's faster. She's tougher. You bring someone else in, someone who doesn't know her like I do, and they won't take her easy. I can bring her in without a scratch on her. And fast."

The other man stared at him, unblinking, as he stood soaked through with nervous sweat. "You have been spectacularly inept," he said conversationally, and Dane braced for his own execution. "Very well. You will bring me the girl immediately. You will not leave any trail back to me. And," he said, motioning the figure in the corner forward, "You will work with a partner."

* * *

There you go, folks. Next up: Remy makes a call. Logan goes outside the job description. Rogue gets some food for thought.


	23. The Calm Before

Here you go, guys. I've finally gotten a new computer, but not a new printer, so it's entirely possible that this thing is riddled with typos, since I can't print a hard copy to proof. Be gentle, okay?

* * *

"Rogue!" Kurt called from down the hallway. She turned, about to walk back, but he bamfed over to join her instead. "_Guten__ Tag_!"

"Y'know, it ain't that long of a walk," she pointed out. "Are you lazy, or just showin' off?"

"If you've got it, flaunt it," he said cheerfully, striking a runway pose.

Rogue merely adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and resumed walking.

He fell into step next to her, tail flicking back and forth nervously. "I heard about the meeting with the professor," he said cautiously.

She shot him an annoyed glance. "Kitty?"

"She was worried."

They reached the door of the library and she hauled open the door. "Ah'm fine. Oh, God," she groaned. "Does everyone know?"

Kurt shrugged, unconcerned. "They're going to hear about it eventually. What's the big deal?"

"It's embarrassin'," she grumbled, setting her things down next to a chair. The library was easily her favorite room at the Institute – quiet and warm, and typically private. Most of the kids preferred to study in the common room. A low fire burned in the hearth to one side of the room, and the late afternoon sunlight sparkled through the diamond-paned windows, making the polished wood tables gleam. She breathed in the scent of the books, but it failed to soothe her as it usually did.

"Why are you embarrassed? They'll understand."

"They're probably relieved," she said.

He shook his head. "You're crazy," he said flatly. "That doesn't even make sense."

"They're probably glad not to have me around, screwin' things up and causin' trouble."

"They don't think that way, Rogue."

"Do you?" she asked quietly, not meeting his eyes.

"Of course not," he said, reaching out one hand to touch her shoulder gently.

"Do you think Logan was right to pull me?"

He didn't answer right away. "I think," he said carefully, "that I don't want to risk losing my sister."

She gave a small smile. "Thanks, Kurt."

"You're welcome."

Rogue sat down, and Kurt bamfed to the chair next to hers.

"So," she said, pulling a water bottle from her bag, "Is Amanda coming over tonight?"

"No. Her parents wouldn't let her."

"That sucks," she said, and Kurt nodded glumly. "You really like her, huh?"

"Um, _yeah_," he said, in a tone that implied Rogue had received more serious head injuries than Dr. McCoy had realized. He melted a little then, just thinking about Amanda. "She's great," Rogue. She's funny and beautiful and she likes the fuzz, you know? What's not to like?"

She took a drink of water and asked, "Are you in love with her?"

"Yeah. I am." He grinned, then abruptly frowned. Rogue had never been one for heart-to-hearts, and even the tentative healing of their relationship in the past month hadn't changed that. "Why?"

"Can't Ah ask about my little brother's love life?" she complained.

"You never ask about my love life," he replied, narrowing his eyes. "What's going on?"

She ignored the question, studying the water bottle in front of her as if it was in a foreign language. "Doesn't it worry you guys?" she asked, "All the problems? Her parents, all the anti-mutant groups poppin' up these days…"

"The fact that being an X-Man is more dangerous than being in marching band? The uniforms are better," he said nonchalantly. "I'm furry enough without wearing one of those hats."

"Ah'm serious, Kurt."

"I know." He paused for a minute, trying to arrange his thoughts. "We try not to think about it, I guess." he said finally. "All it does is make Amanda upset, and I hate seeing her like that."

"So you just ignore it?" Her tone was skeptical.

"No. But we can't just sit around worrying about it all the time, either. It might be easier for us not to love each other, but we wouldn't be happier."

"God. You really are in love, aren't you?"

"Totally." He looked at his sister. Her words might have been sarcastic, but there was something wistful in her tone. If he didn't know better, he'd think she sounded almost envious.

"So, you and Gambit," he said conversationally. "How's that going?"

She glared at him, all traces of softness gone. "Fine."

"You guys, uh…he trailed off, not certain what he was asking. Before he could continue, Kitty phased through the library door.

"I have, like, eight million pounds of homework," she complained, turning solid again and dumping her backpack on the floor with a resounding thud. "How about you guys?"

"Not as much as you," Kurt said, looking askance at the pile of books Kitty was transferring to the long wooden table.

"English, then French," said Rogue.

"Bet Remy'll help you with that," Kitty said mischievously.

"Dude! Brother in the room!" Kurt bamfed to Kitty, clapped a hand over her mouth. "Please, _Katzchen_. I beg you!"

Rogue just rolled her eyes. "Get your mind outta the gutter, Kit."

Kitty phased through Kurt to speak, then elbowed him sharply. "Where is Remy, anyway?" she asked.

"Said he had stuff to do," Rogue answered, trying to sound nonchalant. Part of her had been relieved when Remy disappeared after breakfast, mumbling about errands. The sight of him in the kitchen, eyes glowing over his coffee cup, an odd half-smile on his face instead of the usual cocky grin, had brought back her words from the night before. She hadn't meant to say so much, she thought, chagrined. It had changed them, added a sudden pressure to put a name to things. He felt the new tension, too, she was certain, and couldn't help wondering if that had more to do with his sudden departure than any errands he might need to run. "He'll be back soon, Ah think."

"Aw," Kitty teased. "You miss him."

Rogue bristled. "Look at this pile of homework, Kit. Ah don't have time t'miss him. And Ah wouldn't anyway – Ah've got better things to do than sit around moonin' over some guy."

Kitty grinned. "You miss him! You do!"

"Ah don't," she said, leaning down to pull out a book. And even if she did, she told herself, she certainly wasn't going to give Kitty – or Remy – the satisfaction of knowing it. "And Ah've got a lot of work to do, so can you guys keep it down?" She shifted in the chair and opened up her copy of King Lear determinedly.

* * *

Remy watched Rogue through the glass as he stood on the bluestone path winding through the garden. He had seen her enter the library, watched as Rogue and Kurt had talked. It was nice that she was finally starting to feel at ease around her brother. Rogue's relationship with Kurt still troubled her, he knew, and to sit in the library with him and chat was progress. Now she sat curled in a wingback chair, engrossed in a book. Every so often, she would underline something or dog-ear a page, tuck a lock of white behind her ear, comment without looking up on whatever it was that Kitty and Kurt were discussing across the room. It was a nice picture, Remy thought.

As he stood and admired, Rogue looked up from her book and caught sight of him. She straightened and smiled at him, beckoning him inside. He shook his head slightly and gestured for her to return to her book. The smile cooled, and she gave him a "whatever" shrug before pointedly turning back to her reading.

He watched her for a minute longer, then walked further into the formal garden and pulled out his cell phone, punching in the number as his stomach clenched with dread.

On the sixth ring, someone picked up, but didn't answer right away. For a few minutes, the line was silent except for the sounds of shifting covers and muttered curses.

"_Allo_?" came a sleepy voice eventually.

"_C'est__ l'après-midi, mon frère. Réve-toi_. Or am I interruptin' some sort of marital relations?"

"_Bec__ mon chu_," said the voice. "If it ain' de village idiot."

"Nice to hear y'voice, too, Henri. Can y'talk?"

"_Bien__ sur. Une second._" He heard the flare of a lighter, the quick indrawn breath as Henri lit a cigarette, and the rustle of sheets as his brother got out of bed. Finally, he spoke. "Remy. Heard y'been havin' all sorts adventures _en le grand ville, non_?"  
He grimaced. "Jean-Luc's keepin' tabs?"

"Among others," Henri replied.

"Yeah, figured dat." He sighed, feeling the tension flood his muscles.

"She worth it? Dis _fille_ y'hooked up wit?"

"I didn't hook up," Remy said stiffly. "Not like dat."

"She worth it?"

Remy glanced over his shoulder, back to the library. Kurt was bamfing around, clearly trying to distract the girls. Without looking, Rogue reached down and picked up another book, tossing it into midair just as Kurt bamfed again. The book caught him squarely on the back of the head. Sulkily, the blue mutant sat down at the table, and Rogue gave a satisfied smile, never looking up from her reading. Remy couldn't help the grin that broke across his face. "_Oui_. She worth it."

Henri's voice was grim. "Better be. Somebody real interested in her."

"Belle?" He instantly snapped back to the conversation, tearing his eyes away from the scene in the window.

"Don' t'ink so. She pissed, _mon__ frère_, _mais__ sho_. Y'fucked up big-time. But de orders ain' comin' from de Assassins."

"Any ideas?"

"Big money, all I can tell."

"How big? Who's payin'?"

"Don' know who. But it big 'nuff everybody real careful not t'talk bout _Le Diable's _new _fille_. Can't go anywhere in de territory, people hurry to tell me dey ain' talkin' bout y'girl."

He groaned. "Course not. What's Belle say?"

"Las' time she talk t' Mercy, Belle tol' her, "Y'goat-fuckin' rat-bastard brother-in-law set foot in _le paroisse_ 'gain, Julien gon' cut off his balls and feed dem t'_les__ cochons_."

Remy winced. "So she still pissed?"

He could almost hear his brother's smirk. "Li'l bit, yeah."

In the background, Remy heard his sister-in-law's voice. "You talkin' t'my Remy? Gimme!" Henri was still chuckling as his wife snatched the phone. "Remy? It really you, Rem?"

He smiled, the warmth of his sister-in-law's enthusiasm a salve. "'Lo, Mercy. Henri makin' up dat bit bout de goat, _non_?"

"Y'wish," she snorted. "Dat all Belle. An' she's tellin' anyone who'll listen de size o'y'bo-staff is…_comment elle dit_…compensatin' for 'de size of y'…"

"She's lyin!" Remy cut in quickly.

"If you say so." Mercy dissolved into giggles.

"Y'enjoyin' dis too much, Mercy," he admonished. "Ain' nice."

She her laughter faded as quickly as it had come. "Oh, Remy," she said sadly, "I ain' enjoyin' dis at all."

He paced back and forth through the rose garden. "Me neither."

"Come home."

"Y'know I can't."

"We'll work somet'in out. A truce." Her tone was pleading.

"Belle seem like she in de mood for a truce?" he asked acidly.

"It's all pride, Remy. If you'd just come back."

"On her terms? On Jean-Luc's? _Non_."

"We miss you," she said, pausing for a moment. "All of us."

His mouth tasted sour suddenly. "Doubt dat."

The silence stretched out between them. Remy broke a rose off a nearby bush and charged it one petal at a time.

Finally, Mercy spoke. "He doesn't blame you. None of us do, but 'specially not Theoren."

He dropped the glowing rose into a nearby fountain. It was ash before it touched the water. "Ain't bout dat."

"Course it is. It's about Etienne and Gennie an' everyt'ing in between. It don't matter, Remy. Dis y'home. Dis y' family," she said, voice breaking, "An' it's time for you to come back."

He kept his voice gentle, but firm. "It ain't home any more, Mercy." He watched Rogue stretch in the wing chair and glance out the window for him. Unreasonably grateful for Xavier's formal garden, he ducked behind a hedge.

"Y'made my wife cry," Henri said, taking back the phone. "I've killed men f'less."

"Sorry," he said, meaning it.

"Don' know why she likes you so much."

"Me neither." He meant that, too.

"She ain't wrong bout you comin' back, though."

"Can't do it, Henri. Jus' can't." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, wished for a cigarette.

"Why? Y'd be de king of N'Awlins. You could have anyt'ing y'want. What's out there you can't find here?"

Through the hedge, he could see Rogue set her book down and gaze thoughtfully at the French doors to the garden.

"Freedom," he said without thinking. Freedom, he wanted to tell his brother, and hope, and light, and grace, all of them sweet on the tongue like wine.

Henri sighed. "Jus' 'cause Jean-Luc got you on a long leash 'stead of a short one don' mean y'free. You think he ain't gonna yank y'back one o'dese days? You t'ink he ain't already considerin' it? De man ain't known for his excess o' patience."

"Best he stock up, den."

He heard his brother take a deep breath, make one last attempt. "Dis what you born for, Remy. Dis who you are."

"Not any more." In the library, Rogue stood and walked toward the doors, index finger marking a place in her book. "Gotta go. Y'hear anyt'ing – anyt'ing, Henri – 'bout who behind all dis, you let me know."

"I will. B'have y'self," he warned.

"Never." Remy clicked off the phone and stepped back into the courtyard at the same time as Rogue. Smoothly, he palmed the phone and offered her a rose instead.

She took it and breathed in the scent, looking at him sharply over the scarlet petals. "Y'okay?"

"Better now. Missin' you." He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

She flushed, but didn't try to move away. "Ah can't stay long – got a session with Logan."

"Figures," he said, rolling his eyes. "What 'bout after?"

"Dinner. Studyin'. Sunday's a school night," she reminded him lightly.

"Seem t'remember y'promised me a date, _chere_."

"You weren't serious," she protested.

He lowered his mouth to her ear, breath stirring the strands of hair between them. "Meant ev'ry word," he said in a low voice. "Did you?"

"Ah have a session," she stammered, pulling back. "Ah can't stay."

He just chuckled, held her in place. "Y'cute when y'spooked." Before she could fire back, he ran a quick thumb over her lips. "S'okay," he said. "Better if y'don' answer."

"Why?"

He looked at her, eyes just a little sad and weary. "Dat a talk y'really want t'have right now? How you feel and how I feel and what we gon' do 'bout all of it?"

She shook her head minutely, fingering the flower he had given her.

"Go t'y'session," he said gently. "We figure it all out later."

She looked at him closely again. "You sure you're okay, swamp rat?"

He nodded. "Won't be if Wolvie t'ink I make you late," he said, nudging her toward the library doors. "Go on."

When she had left, he sat among the drifting leaves and still-bright roses, turning the phone over and over in his hands.

* * *

"You're late," Logan grumbled as she entered the control room.

She flicked a cool glance in his direction, then made an elaborate show of checking her watch. "Five minutes," she said, dropping into a chair.

He watched her, utterly dispassionate. "You're pissed at me." He wasn't asking – she had given him the silent treatment for their entire morning session, running through the drills with none of the good-natured arguments about strategy that had become the norm.

"You think?" she said, adjusting the seam of her gloves. The warmth of her talk with Remy had vanished the minute she had stepped on the elevator to the mansion's lower levels. It didn't matter, she thought furiously, that her simulation scores were nearly as good as Scott's now, and sometimes even better. Regardless of how hard she had worked, how much she had changed, all the team was going to see now was that she was still unreliable, still untrustworthy. Still the wildcard, the weak link. Pulling her off the team meant that nothing had changed. And that it was Logan who made the call only cut deeper.

"Yeah." He pulled a chair next hers and sat, sent her an appraising glance. "I knew you would be."

"You just didn't care," she snapped.

He leaned back in the chair. "Not really. Gimme a choice between keeping you alive and keeping you happy, I'll choose safe every time." He shrugged. "Sorry if it hurts your feelings, kid, but that's the way it shakes out."

"Hurts my feelings?" she exploded, shooting out of her seat. "Ah have worked my _ass_ off in here, Logan. Twice a day, without complainin', just the way we agreed. And you pull me because you think I'm gonna hurt the team?" She stalked to the window overlooking the danger room, forced the tears back.

His voice was sharply impatient. "I pulled you because you might as well wear a bull's eye painted on your ass, the way Dane's coming after you. You go out with the team while he's gunning for you, and they're in danger too. You know it's true. So lose the attitude."

"It's crap," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"It is," he said evenly. "But it's still the right call. You're so hot to be in charge? What would you do?"

She turned reluctantly from the window. "What do you mean?"

He pinned her with an unforgiving glance. "Let's pretend, kid. Let's pretend you're me, and you've got a bunch of kids out on the front lines of what is shapin' up to be an ugly, ugly war, 'cause there ain't any other kind, and they're _your_ kids. Your team.

"And one of those kids is a target for something bad, something mean. You like the kid. You're crazy about 'em, think they're the best thing to come down the pike in God only knows how long. But it doesn't change the fact that they're the one drawing the fire."

"They're a liability," she muttered, glancing away.

"Yes and no. The kid's a major force – strong, smart, tough." Her eyes widened slightly at the compliment, but he kept going, relentless in his need for her to understand. "You need them, but it makes things risky for the rest of the team. And it leaves the kid exposed, puts 'em in more danger. So what should you do, Rogue? What's _your_ genius solution?"

She stared at her gloved hands for a minute, then lifted her eyes to meet his. "Ah'd use 'em as a decoy. Draw out whoever's after them and take the guy out."

"No fucking way."

"Why not? No more ambushes. Keep the rest of the team safe. There's backup nearby, so you're in control. And if the kid's as good as you're saying," she said, lifting one shoulder and dropping it again, "they can handle it. End of problem."

"Not in my lifetime, kid." He ignored the smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. He should have guessed, he thought grimly, that she'd turn it into a way to prove herself to him again. And while he might be proud of her for it, he wasn't about to let it happen on his watch.

"You asked me what Ah'd do," she said stubbornly. "And Ah'm tellin' you. You know Ah'm right, too."

"You're not. And it wouldn't work." He shook his head firmly.

She glared at him. "Why not?"

"Because decoys have to look real. Hell, Rogue, we'd need to let them take you. And even if we took Dane out of the picture, there would still be a next guy. And a guy after that, and another one after that. They're just the muscle. We'd have to let them grab you and then try to get back to the source." He shook his head again. "You're not doing it. End of story."

"That's just stupid. Why the hell am Ah spendin' my time here if you're not teachin' me how to fight?"

He didn't answer her, but he pushed out of his chair and picked up a duffel bag. "Put your sweatshirt back on," he said gruffly. "We're going outside."

"Outside? Why?"

"Because I said so. Come on." Without waiting for her, he strode out of the room to the elevators.

Fuming, she zipped up her sweatshirt and followed him out of the danger room, up to the kitchen, and out into the woods behind the mansion.

"Logan," she said, hurrying to catch up, "where are we going?"

He said nothing, stride eating up the ground as he crossed through the woods into what had once been a vineyard and was now lying fallow.

"Logan, wait up!"

When he finally stopped, they were in a clearing easily the length of a football field. He opened the duffel bag and tossed a small, heavy black case to her. "Open it up."

She gave him a puzzled look, fumbling slightly with the zipper.

"What is this?"

"It's a gun. A .22. Figured we'd start small."

"Thanks," she said dryly. "And here I was thinkin' it was a fountain pen. Logan, what is this? The professor doesn't want us trained on guns. He says they just…"

"…contribute to a cycle of violence we're dedicated to preventing," he parroted. "Yeah. He gives staff members the same speech. It's a nice speech." He motioned to the gun. "I cleared it -- no bullets in it yet."

"What are we doin' here?"

"Training. Take it out of the case," he instructed.

She studied it for a moment, sliding one finger along the black barrel. Even through her gloves, the metal felt cool, and she knew it would be more pronounced on bare skin. Carefully, she took it out and held it pointed at the ground, finger on the trigger guard. "Ah don't get this, Logan. Ah'm training, but Ah'm off the team. We don't use guns, but you're want to teach me about them anyway." Confusion usually left her irritable, and today was no exception. "You're so worried about me bein' late, why are we wastin' time on somethin' Ah won't use?"

"First of all, you're not off the team. You're just not going out on missions for a while."

"Six of one," she shot back.

"Second, I'm not training you to fight pretty, kid. I'm training you how to fight, period."

She shifted a little, seemingly uneasy. "And today's lesson is guns."

"Yeah. That a problem?" He watched her closely.  
"What did the professor say?"

"I didn't ask him," Logan replied. "You're worried about breaking a rule? Because you sure as hell haven't been worried about breaking any rules with Gumbo."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said indignantly.

"Where you sleeping these days, Rogue?" he growled.

"None of your business," she replied.

"You sure? If you're breakin' house rules, damn straight it's my business."

"Lay off, Logan," she warned. "It's not like that."

"Really?" he asked scornfully. "What's it like, then?"

His tone had her curling back into herself. "Ah…care about him," she said guardedly. To keep her hands busy, she tucked the gun back in the case and zipped it closed.

"You in love with him?" he demanded.

She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "Does it matter?" She wanted desperately to give him an answer, but she couldn't. It wasn't just that anything she said now would be wrong -- Logan's reaction would be God-awful, either way. But even with last night's conversation still vivid in her mind, the feeling of Remy's fingers tracing her lips still sparkling through her, she couldn't find the words. Not for Logan, and more importantly, not for Remy.

"It damn well better, if you're sleeping with him."

She flushed. "Well, Ah'm not, so lay off."

"Okay, then." His eyes softened, and he focused on a tree that had fallen nearby, making a mental note to come back later and carve up some firewood. A lot of it. He should say something, he guessed. Make an effort to smooth things over. "You know, if you need to talk about things…"

Rogue's eyebrows shot up, and she watched, saying nothing.

"…you could always talk to 'Ro, get a female perspective. Or Hank. He's probably all over the…um… mechanics." He trailed off, clearly flustered.

"Ah'm pretty clear on the mechanics, Logan," she said with a hint of amusement. "But thanks."

"Yeah." He struggled not to concentrate on what she meant by 'pretty clear'.

"He asked me to go on a date," she said suddenly, shyly.

His reply was automatic, an instinctive shift to a familiar role. "You're not going off the grounds."

"Ah _know_," she said. "Ah just…never mind." She shook her head in frustration. She didn't want to talk to Ms. Munroe, much as she liked the older woman. And she certainly didn't want to talk to Dr. McCoy, kind as he was. It wasn't the science she was worried about. She wanted to talk to Logan, who knew her better than anyone else, who (she was fairly certain) knew more about sex and everything that went along with it than anyone else at the mansion, who had never, not once, lied to her. And of course, as soon as she tried, he slapped her down again. She tossed her hair back from her face and snatched up the case again.

"What?" He shifted unhappily, knowing his reaction had been the wrong one.

"Nothing." She unzipped the case again and pulled out the gun. "Can we just do this?"  
He watched her silently for a minute. "Sure. You need to load the magazine," he said, pointing. "You put it…"

Without a word, she deftly slipped the slim rectangle into the handle, and he quirked an eyebrow. "Thought you didn't know guns."

She didn't answer, just slammed a round into the chamber and flicked off the safety. "Where's the target?" she asked, shoulders stiff. Let him wonder, she thought. You didn't grow up in Caldecott County without learning how to handle a gun. Irene had insisted she take a safety class, even though the older woman detested guns. The contradiction had finally made sense when Rogue realized Mystique had been guiding her training long before her powers surfaced.

Logan interrupted her thoughts, the barest hint of contrition in his voice. "Did he say what you're gonna do on this date?"

"No. Where's the target?"

"Shit." He turned away, suddenly uncomfortable. He crouched next to the duffel bag and searched for the ear protectors he had brought with. He set them next to the bag and painstakingly rearranged the rest of the equipment, glancing up at her. It was like looking at light through a prism, he thought. Most of the time, she was just Rogue, all of her roles combined, like white light. Occasionally, though, the prism shifted, and he saw again all of the roles she played – student and charge and teammate and friend, child and woman and X-Man, all separate and distinct. More complex, certainly, but still recognizably Rogue. Remy's arrival had added another role, another color. He hadn't counted on it, hadn't expected it, hadn't the least idea how to handle it. But he knew, watching the clenched, angry line of her jaw, that he had figure it out, or he would never really see her. He scrubbed a hand over his face in resignation. "Look, Rogue…what were you gonna say?"

"Nothing," she repeated. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of her.

He stepped in front of her and lifted her chin until she looked him in the eyes. "You really want this? Him? Of all the guys?"

She jerked her head away, but held his look. "What guys, Logan? We've talked about this. There aren't other guys. And even if there were, Ah don't want them. Ah want _him_."

He knew the stubborn set of her mouth, and it didn't surprise him. But her eyes, sea-green and oddly vulnerable, had him choosing his next words very carefully.

"You know, kid, when you care about a person…that sort of wanting…it can be really…special." He trailed off, suddenly feeling clammy. He had not signed on for sex ed, he thought miserably.

She goggled at him, horrified. "Ew! Logan, Ah'm _eighteen_. You think Ah'm not clear on that stuff? Stop gettin' all 'After School Special' on me. You're grossin' me out." She put her a hand on her hip and glared at him.

"If talkin' about it grosses you out, kid, maybe you're not ready."

She snorted, and flicked the safety back on automatically. "Nice try. Ah get it, Logan. You don't think Ah should sleep with him."

He crossed his arms and shook his head once. "Nope."

"Why?"

_Because I've seen the way you smile at him_, he thought, _and when he leaves, I won't be able to fix it_. "Since when do you take my advice about your love life?"

"Ah'm askin', aren't Ah?"

He looked at his hands, rubbed at his knuckles without thinking. "I can keep you safe, Rogue. It might piss you off, but at the end of the day, you're here and alive and that's what counts."

"Ah know --," she started.

"But I can't make you happy," he continued, "and neither can Gumbo, or Cyke, or anyone else. You can't rely on other people to make you happy. To make you whole. You gotta do that yourself."

"He _does_ make me happy, Logan. How is that a bad thing?"

"What happens if he leaves?"

"Ah don't know." But realization filtered through her mounting temper, and she softened. "You think if Ah go to bed with Remy, and he leaves, Ah'll lose it again. Like before."

He jerked a shoulder, unwilling to admit the possibility out loud. "Would you?"

She considered for a long moment. "Ah don't think so," she said slowly, trying to imagine the scene. There was a faint ache behind her sternum, a sudden tightness in her throat at the idea of Remy leaving. But it was a manageable ache, she thought. Logan's words in the kitchen a month ago echoed back to her. _There's a difference between carrying it and being crushed by it_, he had told her, trying to help her cope with her rage and guilt. _You get used to the weight of it_. She tilted her head up towards him. "It's something Ah can carry."

He nodded, understanding her meaning perfectly. They stood together in the fading light, listening to the light breeze rustling the nearby woods. Finally, he spoke. "You ain't built for casual, kid."

Her head whipped around to face him. "Logan, _enough!_"

"I'm just saying…you should do what you want. What makes you happy," he amended. "Just don't…just…be careful. That's all."

"Uh-huh." The mirthful glint in her eyes was not reassuring, he thought.

He rolled his eyes, held out his hand for the gun. "Lesson's over, kid. Go get ready for dinner."

She cleared the chamber and ejected the magazine, placed the gun back in the case carefully, then gave it back. He watched her confident handling of the weapon, still puzzled, but didn't say anything. They could talk about it next time, he figured.

"You comin'?" she asked, when he made no move to put the case back in the duffel bag.

"Not yet. Go on ahead," he suggested. "I'll see you in a little bit."

She nodded, set off for the house. He watched her walk away, crunching over leaves, turning her face to the last rays of light. Suddenly, she stopped, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Logan?"

"Yeah?" Sunset was turning her hair to copper, bathing her face in gold.

"Ah'm always careful," she called back with a grin. "Learned it from the best." She turned and continued towards the house, Logan's laughter following behind.

* * *

Up next: A shout-out to T.S. Eliot. And brownie points to anyone who can guess it in their review.


	24. The Way the World Ends

I am beyond embarrassed that this took so long to post – and I'm really grateful to all of the people who reviewed asking for more. Also, a huge, huge thanks to the people who emailed me directly to talk about the story – it was the incentive I needed to finish this up.

I'm not thrilled with this chapter, which is a shame considering how long it took me to write, but I'm posting it anyway because I'm tired of it. Anyway, here it is, brought to you by gently prodding reviewers, Tori Amos' "A Sorta Fairytale", and T.S. Eliot.

And a quick reminder of what happened last time: Rogue and Kurt had bonding time. Remy talked to his family back in New Orleans, and reiterated that he's not coming home. Logan attempted to give Rogue a sex ed lesson, but mostly just made a fool of himself.

* * *

The three girls trudged down the long, echoing hallway to the locker room, each lugging a bag of sports equipment. Kitty pouted as they walked. "I can't believe we had to stay after to clean up everything. It was so not our fault the pucks went everywhere when the bag split."

Rogue cut her off wearily. "Doesn't matter, Kit. Coach Snyder was gonna find a way to blame us for it. He always does."

"He should be reported to the school board," Amanda said firmly. "He's obviously discriminating against you guys."

"Ah don't think you're gonna find a real sympathetic audience," Rogue said, hauling open the back door to the locker room. "But thanks for helpin' us clean up."

Amanda shrugged. "I'm not in any rush for lunch," she pointed out. "Tater tot casserole. Again."

Kitty grimaced. "Let's talk about something fun," she pleaded, dumping her bag to the floor with a clatter.

"Let's talk about your date with Remy," suggested Amanda mischievously. Rogue flushed, but stayed silent.

"He really said that you should wear a fancy dress?" Kitty sighed, phasing an arm through her locker and pulling out her regular clothes. "That is so romantic."

"We need to go shopping," Amanda pointed out as she tugged her sweater over her head.

"I have a dress," Rogue grumbled.

Amanda shook her head. "You need the dress. Something with actual color, not just black. Something amazing." She stood and walked over to the line of sinks, checking her hair in the mirror.

Rogue gritted her teeth. "Ah like black, and Ah can't afford amazing. Besides, there's no way Logan's letting me outta the mansion to go shopping. Ah'm lucky he lets me come to school." She finished tying her boots and kicked the locker shut with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Oh, we can totally get around that," said Kitty dismissively. "We'll just—"

"Guys?" Amanda said, her voice suddenly distant, "Let's go, okay?"

"Coming," replied Kitty. Then, noticing the other girl's expression, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know…I just…I don't feel so good. Something feels off…" She paled, swaying slightly. She grabbed the ledge of the sink to steady herself. "Something's wrong."

A flash caught Rogue's eye a moment too late. "Amanda. Out the back. Now," she ordered, just as Dane appeared in the doorway of the locker room, eyes glittering like the switchblade he brandished.

"You have caused me a hell of a lot of trouble, little girl."

Kitty strode forward, shoulder to shoulder with Rogue, as Amanda stumbled towards the door they had just entered through.

Rogue sneered and reached for the equipment bag she had brought in, pulling out a hockey stick. "You must like it, the way you keep comin' after me." She dropped into a crouch, brandishing the stick.

"Ain't gonna work like that," he said, gesturing at her makeshift weapon. The fluorescent lights reflected harshly off of his dark, oily hair and Rogue was seized with a fury that had her throwing aside all thoughts of caution and strategy.

"Works for me," Rogue replied, and swung at Dane's knife hand. He moved nimbly out of the way as Kitty joined the fight, throwing a series of punches and then phasing out when he sliced in her direction.

His attention deflected, Rogue hacked viciously at him, first the knees and then the chest, a black satisfaction coursing through her when he staggered backwards. Dane ducked and attacked, his kick catching her under the ribs. She stumbled for a moment, and Kitty stepped in with a roundhouse to the kidneys. As he sagged against the concrete wall, Rogue recovered enough to hit him with the handle of the hockey stick and then slam her elbow into his jaw.

He thrust at her with the knife and she arched away. "Give it up!" she spat.

"I told you, it doesn't work like that. Not today," he said, warding off another blow with an upraised arm.

"What's the matter, Dane? No fun bein' outnumbered? Doesn't seem fair?" She nearly laughed as she slapped at his knife hand, watched the blade spin across the concrete floor to her.

He took a step toward the door, and Kitty moved to block him, marveling at Rogue's icy skill. "Not too worried."

"You should be," Rogue said coldly, and before Dane could move, she slammed the hockey stick between his legs, smiling unpleasantly when he sank to the floor with a moan.

"Bitch!" he grunted.

"Pretty much," she said as she crouched to pick up the knife he had dropped. Without taking her eyes off Dane, she tossed the hockey stick to Kitty.

"If he moves," she ordered, pulling off her glove, "hit him in the throat. It's time for some answers."

"Rogue, wait," Kitty said nervously. She didn't know if it was Logan's training, or just Rogue's hatred for Dane, but something had changed. Rogue almost seemed to enjoy the violence, to revel in it, and the difference left Kitty feeling vaguely unsettled. "We should call the professor."

Dane smirked at Kitty's words, and Rogue's anger bubbled up again. Ignoring her friend, she addressed Dane. "You really thought you could take us? Two X-Men?"

"Me?" he asked, mouth twisting in a bitter approximation of a smile. "Nope."

She stepped in closer, one hand firmly gripping the knife, the other bare with fingers spread wide.

"But he's a different story," Dane added, gesturing behind the two girls.

They whirled in tandem as Amanda screamed and was abruptly cut off. To their horror, Sabretooth stood in the opposite doorway, one hand twisting Amanda's arm behind her back, the other clamped over her neck, silencing her.

"We can keep fighting," Dane said, slowly getting to his feet. "I wouldn't mind the chance to kick your ass again. But my…partner…might get bored."

Sabretooth pressed a claw lightly to Amanda's neck, and a drop of blood sprung up along the smooth, dark line of her throat. Amanda struggled briefly, and then stopped as the claw pressed harder, the drop turning to a steady ruby trickle.

Kitty shifted behind Rogue and casually slid a hand into her pocket, praying neither man would notice.

"What the hell is goin' on?" Rogue demanded. She had seen Kitty go for her cell phone, knew their only chance was to stall until backup arrived. "Don't hurt her," she said to Sabretooth, holding out her gloved hand in a placating gesture even as she drew back her knife hand, ready to throw.

"Aw," he snarled. "Worried about your friend? That's real sweet, mouse."

Kitty pressed the speed-dial button for the Institute, waited a few beats for someone to answer. "Why are you here, Sabretooth?" she said loudly. "We're just trying to finish up in the locker room after gym class and go to lunch, the three of us. Why do you and Dane want Rogue so badly? Why do you need to take Amanda hostage?" She prayed that someone at the Institute – Dr. McCoy, Ms. Munroe, anyone – was listening to her improvised distress call.

"We're not here to talk motives, runt." Sabretooth cupped Amanda's face with one giant hand, the claws perilously close to her eyes.

"Well," drawled Rogue, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt, "Ah'm always up for a fight. We've taken you before, hairball. We can do it again."

He snarled. "You had help before."

"There's no fight, Rogue," Dane said from the side of the room. He took a step toward her and adjusted his gloves. "Shadowcat backs off. You come with us. Or we kill your friend."

Kitty gasped, and above Sabretooth's hand, Amanda's dark eyes went wide as she resumed her struggling.

"Don't hurt her," Rogue said again, unable to keep the desperation from her voice. If she could just hold things for a little longer, she thought wildly – if she could give Remy and Logan time…

…and then it hit her, a short punch to the gut. Remy and Logan weren't coming to her rescue. No one was. She had insisted to everyone that she could handle herself, and now she would have to.

"Quit stalling," Sabretooth growled. "She's wasting time." In an instant, he had wrenched Amanda's arm up behind her, and the sickening crack of bone splintering echoed off the concrete walls. Amanda went grey and shrieked in pain.

"Shut up," he rumbled, cuffing her head. The shrieks turned to muffled sobs. He continued coldly, "Come now, or I'll snap her neck on three."

"No!" Kitty cried. "Wait!"

"Your choice," Dane added, watching the scene dispassionately. It wasn't how he had wanted to play it, but his employer had made it clear that Creed was now in charge. At this point, all he wanted was to deliver the girl and get the hell out of town.

"One," said Sabretooth. Rogue's eyes went steely as he placed a hand on either side of Amanda's head, and the girl squeezed her eyes shut, tears trickling down.

"Rogue, don't," Kitty hissed. "He's bluffing."

She looked at Amanda, her arm hanging strangely at her side, blood seeping down into her sweater. "No, he ain't."

"Two." In her mind's eye, she could see Kurt in the library, his face wistful. She shook her head slowly, as if to dispel the image, then met Sabretooth's black stare.

"Three." Sabretooth grinned as Rogue dropped the knife, and spread her arms wide, watching the blade spin end over end and clatter to the floor.

"Let her go," she said quietly.

Amanda's eyes snapped open, relief and horror mingled on her face.

"Rogue!" Kitty wailed.

Dane moved quickly to the knife, scooping it up and pointing it at Kitty. "Don't move," he snapped as he approached Rogue cautiously.

"Put your hands behind you," he said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs and slapping them on her wrists. He fastened them so tightly they bit into her skin, but Rogue ignored him, focusing on Sabretooth. She knew instinctively that Creed's reason for taking her was far more personal than business, a twisted move in a game she didn't quite understand yet. What, she wondered, was the best way to get under his skin, to gain herself an advantage?

"Remy's gonna find you. Logan, too. They'll come after you."

He bared his teeth in a feral grin. "I'm counting on it," he said as Dane snapped a heavy silver band around her neck. Suddenly, the air around her seemed to tingle uncomfortably, and she felt hollow. Her powers, she realized, were gone.

"It's active," Dane confirmed, and Sabretooth shoved Amanda towards Kitty, knocking both girls back into a bank of lockers.

Snagging Rogue by the chain of the handcuffs, he spun her to face her friends and pulled her flush against him. With a menacing slowness, he dragged a claw along her arm, smiling as the sleeve tore open and blood welled up. Almost as an afterthought, he lowered his head and licked the drops, and Rogue jerked away, slamming her shoulder into his jaw. He merely chuckled and brushed a thumb over the cut, smearing the blood on a nearby wall.

"Freak," she muttered, struggling to pull away from him.

"Play nice," he warned, rancid breath hot on her neck. "I'm the only thing that's gonna keep you alive."

"Should we take the others?" Dane asked.

In the corner, Kitty was crouched protectively over Amanda. She had to keep it together, she reminded herself, had to slow them down until the rest of the team arrived, but she couldn't see how she could get Amanda to safety and still help Rogue. The collar, she realized, had somehow nullified Rogue's mutation, and she couldn't be sure it wouldn't do the same to her if she attempted a rescue. She grabbed Amanda's hand, ready to phase them both out.

Sabretooth leered at her for a second, then shook his head. "Nah. She's gonna deliver a message."

Kitty's face contorted with rage, and she turned to Rogue, struggling to stay calm. The older girl's eyes blazed in a deathly pale face. "We'll find you," Kitty said urgently, feeling the situation slip away from her with every thudding heartbeat. "We will_ find_ you, I swear."

Rogue nodded. "Tell Kurt—" she began, and was cut off when Sabretooth tossed her over his shoulder.

"Tell LeBeau Paris was a fucking tea party compared to this."

And with that, he kicked open the door leading to the back corridor of the gymnasiums and took off. Dane followed at a run, and Kitty and Amanda were left in sudden silence.

"Amanda," she said, scrambling to her feet, "Are you okay? I've got to—"

"Go," Amanda interrupted weakly, cradling her broken arm. "Go."

Kitty nodded once, then sprinted through the doors as she pulled the phone out of her pocket. "Who's there?" she cried.

"Kitty, it's me." The professor, voice tight and grim. "We're on our way."

"They got her. They just took her. Did you hear?"

"Yes. We heard. Where are you now?"

"The back hallway – the one that runs past all the gyms and the fieldhouse. You have to hurry!" She pounded down the empty corridor – it went on forever, it seemed, and she couldn't tell which way they had gone.

"We'll be there in a just a few minutes. I'm going to contact Kurt and the rest of the students the moment we're within range."

She ducked into the weight room, phasing through the equipment and bursting out onto the deserted playing fields north of the school. "They put something on her, Professor. Some sort of collar. She doesn't have her powers." Her eyes swept the grounds, roving over baseball diamonds and tennis courts, seeing nothing. "They're gone," she wailed. "I lost them."

But there was something. Something black near the metal bleachers of the baseball diamond. She raced toward it, pouring on speed she had never thought she possessed.

"Oh, God," she whispered.

"What is it, Kitty?"

"It's the guy. It's Dane. But he's…" Shredded would be the word, she thought, in some remote corner of her mind. Three huge gashes, a horrible sucking sound coming from the glistening red mass where his chest used to be.

She dropped to her knees next to him, the Professor forgotten. "Where's Rogue?"

"Don't know," he managed. With trembling hands, Kitty shucked off her sweater and pressed it against the gaping wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Dane's eyes locked with hers.

"_Where's Rogue?_"

He shook his head once, the movement clearly painful for him. "She's the key," he gasped weakly.

"What?" She looked up, frantically searching for any sign of Rogue and Sabretooth or the rest of the team. Seeing none, she turned back to Dane. "The key to what?"

But Dane was dead, she realized. She stayed frozen in place until the crimson-soaked grass around her begin to ripple violently with the Blackbird's approach. Her hair whipped around her face, blocking her view of the jet, and she pushed it away, unaware her hands were sticky with blood.

The sleek black jet touched down, turbines roaring, and she saw Remy and Logan leap out, racing toward her. Remy's eyes met hers, and he stopped short, all color draining from his face.

Kitty just shook her head and began to weep.

* * *

Upside-down over Sabretooth's shoulder, Rogue thrashed about and began to scream. Kitty would follow, she was certain, and Rogue had every intention of leaving a trail. to follow. Almost instantly, Sabretooth righted her long enough to jam something in her mouth, then threw her back over his shoulder, yanking her hair painfully as he carted her down the hallway.

"Mouthy little brat," he growled as she tried to push the gag out with her tongue. He burst through a fire exit, disabling the arm with a quick swipe as Rogue struggled against him. Dane followed wordlessly, his face pinched and angry.

In seconds, he had crossed the parking lot, dumping her in the back of a white van Dane jumped in and secured Rogue's handcuffs to a ring set into the wall.

"What the fuck was that?" he shouted as Sabretooth started the van. "We're supposed to bring her in without a scratch!"

"Shut up," Sabretooth replied absently.

"The hell I will! I work clean, Creed. I get_ paid_ for clean. What the fuck is going on?" Dane made his way up to the front of the van and stood hunched behind Sabretooth's seat, shoving the mutant.

Rogue watched the two warily, trying to ignore the burning cut in her arm. Suddenly, Sabretooth braked and turned toward Dane.

"Change of plans," he snarled, and before Dane could react, he had reached for the man with both hands, claws ripping through Dane's chest with a sickening sound.

Dane screamed and staggered backwards, collapsing as blood pooled around him. Rogue's cry was muffled by the musty cotton in her mouth, and she struggled to tamp down the nausea that swirled through her as Sabretooth dragged Dane's body past her to the back of the van. Opening the doors and jumping out, he hurled Dane across the playing fields, then climbed back in.

She pressed herself tightly against the wall, pulling her knees up to her chest. Sabretooth crouched next to her, grabbing her chin and forcing her eyes to his. "Don't know why you're so fucking special, mouse," he said, voice low and menacing, "but I bet you'll scream like everybody else."

She writhed, trying to scoot away from him, and he gave her a scornful look as he raised one meaty hand and backhanded her, her head slamming into the metal floor. Blackness swallowed her as he settled back into the driver's seat and sped away from the school, humming tunelessly.

* * *

Three hours later:

Kitty sat slumped in the library, the rest of the team scattered around. Storm had placed a blanket around the girl's shoulders, pressed a steaming cup of tea into her hands, but it sat, ignored, on a nearby table.

Logan paced the room. "How long does it take to fire up Cerebro, dammit? They've been in there for an hour!"

Scott dragged a weary hand over his face. "It takes time," he said. "Cerebro traces the signature of a mutant's powers. If Sabretooth's not using his, and Rogue can't, it may not work. Kitty, tell me about the collar again."

"I told you. Dane put it on her, and Sabretooth was able to touch her."

Logan rubbed at his knuckles. The bloodstain on the wall had been a parting shot meant specifically for him. Sabretooth would have known that Logan would identify it as Rogue's instantly, and that the implications would send Logan into a berserker rage.

Scott spoke again. "Did it seem to hurt her?"

"I don't think so. It was kind of hard to tell." She pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "She wasn't surprised when he touched her. Grossed out, but not surprised."

Remy's jaw tightened at the image of Creed with his hands on Rogue. He had seen what happened to women Creed had possession of, and the dread coiled in his stomach.He stared out the window, leaned his head against the cool glass. If he let his gaze go unfocused, he could almost see himself standing in the garden with Rogue the day before. "We should be out there," he muttered. "Why we jus' standin' round? We're losin' time."

"Wasn't anything to track, Gumbo. I couldn't smell 'em, and I can scent Creed five blocks away. Jeannie and the Professor couldn't find 'em, Cyke couldn't get a visual from the jet. They just fuckin' vanished." Logan had tracked – for two hours, he had worked the area around the school, but there was nothing.

"We should still be lookin'," Remy said.

"We would be wasting time, Gambit," Storm soothed. "Time that could be better spent trying to make sense of this."

"He took her! Ain't any sense to it!" Remy exploded, panic breaking through the stony mask he had worn since they had arrived to find Rogue missing and Kitty covered in a dead man's blood. He turned to Logan. "You jus' gonna sit on y'ass? Thought you wanted t'protect her."

Before Logan could snarl a reply, Kitty spoke. "What happened in Paris?"

Remy stilled, eyes flaring. "What?"

"What happened in Paris?" She turned toward him, face hard. "That's what Sabretooth said to tell you. That Paris was a tea party compared to this."

With a roar, Logan grabbed Remy and threw him to the ground. They rolled, slamming into an oak table, andLogan tightened his grip. "If this has somethin' to do with you…" he threatened.

"It don'. Fuckin' wit' me jus' a bonus for Creed." Remy met Logan's glare, a charged deck glowing in one hand. "Figure he feels de same way 'bout you. Don' make it y'fault."

For a long moment, the room was silent, everyone immobile as Logan studied Remy. Finally, he let the younger man up, then nodded and crossed his arms. "We ain't done talkin' about this," he growled.

Remy dipped his head in acknowledgement, straightening his coat and bringing down the charge on the cards.

The door opened and Kurt entered, face haggard. "She's okay," he said to Kitty, answering the question before she asked. "Her parents came and got her."

He dropped onto the sofa, too drained to bamf. "They said I can't see her again, ever. They're sending her out of the country."

"Kurt—"

He waved off Kitty's words. "It doesn't matter. Is there anything? Any news?"

Kitty shook her head silently. Telling Kurt that Rogue had been taken had nearly broken her heart. She had walked back into the locker room, still coated in Dane's blood, to find Kurt huddled over Amanda, stroking her hair and murmuring to her. He had looked up at her, the naked hope on his face almost painful. I'm sorry, she had whispered, knowing how little the words meant, and began to cry again as that hope crumbled away.

"I don't understand," Kurt said softly. "She just gave up. Why?"

Remy spoke from the window. "She wasn't gonna risk Amanda. Prob'ly figured she'd take Creed out once dey were clear."

"She didn't know about the collar," added Logan. "She thought she'd still be able to use her skin." Everything he had taught her that fall was based on the idea that she'd be able to fight, even without her powers. With Amanda as leverage, Dane and Creed had blunted that ability. It was the one possibility he hadn't figured on, and he didn't know if he could forgive himself for that.

"And now she's got nothing," Kurt replied.

"No," Kitty said, standing and walking to her friend. She knelt in front of him. "Amanda's alive. That's not nothing. And you should have seen her fight, Kurt. She's amazing - it's like she was born for it. She never panicked. Not once." Not until the end, anyway, and she wasn't about to tell Kurt that.

"She knows Creed," Remy put in, attempting to ease Kurt's mind. "She got him in her head – she can use dat."

She could, Logan realized. Whatever nightmares she'd endured trying to integrate Sabretooth had also taught her his weaknesses. But whatever flicker of hope that lit in him was quickly snuffed when he realized something else: like Dane, Sabretooth was only hired muscle. She would lose that advantage when he turned her over to the person that wanted her so badly.

Remy, he saw, realized that too.

* * *

The darkness receded slowly. Rogue didn't know how long she had been out, but she was no longer manacled to the van – the cuffs were off, leaving stinging red marks on her wrists. The heavy silver collar, though, was still on. She brushed her fingers over it lightly, then examined her arm. The cut extended from shoulder to elbow, long and thin, moderately deep. It seemed to have stopped bleeding, and the sheer material of her blouse stuck to the dried blood. She grimaced at the sight, hissing a little at the pain.

The worst, though, was the din in her head. The personalities were in an uproar, battering against the walls she had worked so hard to build. With an effort, she began the meditation exercises the professor had given her.

After an interminably long time, the pandemonium subsided enough that she could get her bearings. She was sitting, she saw now, on a metal bed topped with a thin mattress, shoved into the far corner of a white, concrete-walled room. A toilet and sink were fitted into the opposite wall. The front wall of the cell – and it was certainly a cell, she knew that much - was made of some kind of clear material, and the scant light in the room came from the hallway. She stood up carefully, her body stiff and aching, and walked to the wall, running her fingers over the seam of the door.

"It's an unbreakable polymer," came a low, amused voice. "Four inches thick, highly conductive. Quite remarkable stuff, really."

She jerked back from the door as if it had burned her. Some remote analytical corner of her mind noted that the voices had suddenly gone silent, and wondered why. "Where am I? Who the hell are you?"

A man – almost as tall as Sabretooth, but leaner – stepped in front of her cell, pressing a sequence on a keypad that caused her door to slide open. She made a quick, involuntary movement towards the door, but stopped herself when she caught the indulgent gleam, too bright for comfort, in his eyes. The collar around her neck was still draining her powers – even her bones felt peculiar, just the slightest bit off – and she knew that even if she could move quickly enough to get a hand on the man, she wouldn't get any answers.

He ignored her questions. "Your arm is bleeding again. I've brought you some bandages, and a change of clothing. I do apologize for Victor's…_enthusiasm_," the man continued smoothly, stepping into the room and setting a bundle on the corner of the bed. "In his defense, I will say that you are even lovelier in person than I had anticipated. And Victor has never been known for his restraint."

She narrowed her gaze at him. "Who the hell are you?"

He smiled and extended a hand, seemingly unperturbed when she ignored it. "Nathaniel Essex. I've been_ so_ looking forward to meeting you, Rogue. Welcome."

* * *

Two last author's notes:

1. Yes, Amanda's little dizzy spell was a precursor of her mutant power developing. Handy, no?

2._ Of course_ it was Sinister! You never really thought it could be anyone else, did you? I just couldn't resist.


	25. Aftershocks

Previously, Rogue was kidnapped. By Sinister. Really, does anything else that happened last time matter?

* * *

The mansion's garage was spotless – every tool hung properly on pegboard or laid out neatly in a drawer, spare parts sorted and labeled in clear plastic boxes. Remy figured Scott was to thank for that, and also for the fact that not a single vehicle needed any work, according to the meticulous maintenance log. Left to his own devices, Remy did what any thief would do – methodically worked the locks on every car, then practiced hot-wiring the ignitions. He timed himself, worked on getting a little faster with each vehicle, making sure not to leave tell-tale scratches on the locks or burn marks on the steering column.

It might have been faster, and cleaner, if he were sober. But it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun.

Pausing after a pathetically easy economy sedan, he leaned against the hood and studied Scott's little roadster, taking another pull from the bottle of bourbon he had brought along. He didn't turn at the noise behind him.

"Scooter's got all sorts of extras on there. Probably gonna take longer than you think."

He shrugged. "Mebbe. Mebbe not."

Logan held out a beer towards the younger man as he flicked on the lights. "Faster just to jimmy the lock."

Remy pulled a face. "No style, hein? Lock's like a woman, mon pere always said – li'l finesse gets better results. T'anks," he said, accepting the bottle.

They studied the car in silence for a while. The sky outside had darkened to navy, and even in the night, the dull grey clouds piled on, threatening a storm. Remy strode to the open garage door and let the sharp air wash over him. "Xavier ain' found nothin' yet?"

"No." The short reply carried all of Logan's frustration and anger. He grabbed a wrench and moved to his bike. "I want to know about Paris."

"An' bringin' me a beer gonna loosen me up enough to tell you?" Remy laughed humorlessly, took a long swallow. "I ain' one of de kids."

Logan rolled his eyes, tightening a bolt. "If I want you to talk, Gumbo, I don't need a beer to make you do it." He cracked his knuckles meaningfully, then shrugged. "Figured you could use one."

Remy rolled the bottle back and forth between his hands. "Yeah." He fell silent again, studying the green glass. Rogue's eyes were a deeper green, he thought, but just as clear.

"What happened?"

Remy turned from the garage door, rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "Tangled with Creed. He won. I lost." Lost the Star, lost Gennie, lost something he couldn't, or wouldn't, put a name to.

"Need more than that," Logan said, not looking up from the chain he was adjusting.

Remy took another swig of the bourbon, chased it with a long pull of beer. "It ain't 'bout Rogue," he said carefully.

Logan nodded, his tone conversational, as if they were discussing a hockey game. "The way I see it, whoever hired Dane got tired of waiting, so he brought in Creed to get the job done. Once they had Rogue, he took out Dane to cover his bases – no splitting the fee, no loose ends. Plus, the bastard just likes killing. Mostly, though, it was business."

Remy tipped his head back, finished the beer.

"The thing is, cutting her? Leaving the blood? That's personal. That's Creed trying to get under my skin." Logan's jaw tightened at the memory. "Same as he did with the crack about Paris."

"Tol' you he was jus' fuckin' wit me. It got nothin' to do wit' Rogue."

Sitting back on his heels, Logan studied his handiwork. "He hates you that much?"

"It's mutual," Remy said shortly. He dropped the empty bottle in the neatly-labeled recycling bin. Cyclops, he decided, would be a lot happier if he paid as much attention to his girlfriend as he did his garage.

"So how'd you both end up as Acolytes?"

Remy lifted a shoulder. "Signed on with Magneto before I knew he'd be there. Couldn't get out of it once I did." Not only was the contract iron-clad, but it provided him an inarguable defense against Jean-Luc's summons. Since Magneto's disappearance, he had picked up short-term jobs, dabbling here and there, but it didn't carry the same weight with his father. His conversation with Henri had only confirmed what he already suspected – Jean-Luc's patience was wearing thin.

"Just business," Logan said acidly.

"Dat was. Dis ain't."

Logan blew out a short breath, his limited goodwill nearly gone. "Paris, Gumbo. Talk."

Remy sighed and pulled out a deck of cards, breaking the seal and shuffling mindlessly. His voice was low and halting, as if the story he was telling was new even to him. "There was a girl. She had somethin' I needed to...recover. A necklace," he said finally, at Logan's questioning look.

Logan nodded silently, eyes still skeptical. He didn't need all the truth, and he didn't expect it. He just needed enough to understand what Creed's history with the boy was, to give him another piece of the puzzle.

"She was a nice _fille_. Her family….dey shouldn't have gotten her involved." He was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. Genevieve Darcenaux had been a preternaturally gifted thief – she had to be, in order to steal the Star from Herzog to begin with. But she had been so young – younger than Remy had ever been, even as a child, and that kind of innocence carried an awfully high price. "Took a while, but I got it back."

_He slid the straps of Gennie's dress off her shoulders, grinned as the rose-colored silk pooled at her feet. Her breath caught in her throat as he tugged her lacy underwear off, and he laughed when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him towards the bed. By the time he had insisted she take the Star off, she was in no mood to protest, her hands fumbling at the clasp in her urgency. The next morning, before dawn had crept over the sky, he had slid the Star off the nightstand, muffling the platinum chain in a length of velvet. He never even stopped to turn around and look at Gennie one last time._

"She was a nice girl," Remy said again, taking another swallow of bourbon. "The day I got the necklace, I walked back to my hotel, an' Henri was gone."

"Henri?" Logan could hear the hint of a slur in Remy's voice. Noting the level of bourbon left in the bottle, he had to give the kid a little credit – most men would have been laid out flat.

"My brother. Came with to keep an' eye on things. Creed took him, left me a note." A scrawl of black on a sheet of hotel stationery, the first card in the house to come tumbling down. "Went back t' Gennie's, found another note."

"He took 'em both?"

Remy nodded, voice bleak. "Met him on top o' Notre Dame. Pretty building," he said distantly. "Never seen stone look so light. You'd think it didn't weigh anything at all. Creed said he'd trade." The city had been still and quiet, the sky just peeking above the horizon, the air blue and hinting at a lovely spring day.

"Your brother and the girl for the necklace."

Remy's smile twisted. "Non. Henri _or_ Gennie. Not both."

Logan hands on the bike stilled, his eyes fixing on Remy.

"He was my brother," Remy whispered fiercely. "He had a new wife. Dey hadn't even been married six months."

"And the girl?" Logan didn't know exactly what he was asking, only that there was more to the story.

"I didn't know," he said, unable to mask the brokenness in his voice. "I thought everything dat happened wit us was jus' fun, nothin' serious."

"But she didn't."

"She thought it was for real. Thought I was." Thought that Remy would somehow save her, would at least meet her eyes as he sentenced her to plummet past gargoyles and angels on a cold spring morning. Instead, he failed her in every way imaginable. At the end, he couldn't even call her parents and tell them where to find their only daughter's body.

"She loved you." There was no condemnation in his voice, only a grim understanding.

"Thought she did, anyway." Remy took another drink of bourbon, wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Nothing seemed to take away the greasy, sour taste that coated his throat when he thought about Gennie, the way her white-blond hair had looked against the blood pooling on the cobblestones. He turned bleary eyes to Logan, tuning back in. "Tol' you. Ain' bout Rogue."

"So why'd Creed say this time was worse?" Logan asked, watching Remy's face closely.

"Cause it's real," Remy replied without thinking, words slurring more now. "Cause it's Rogue. Cause I don't know what he's doin', an' he knows it's killin' me to sit around. He's enjoyin' it."

He walked unsteadily to the garage door, leaned against the frame and stared into the darkness. Whatever Remy was looking at, Logan was certain it wasn't the neatly-edged drive of the mansion. Logan considered the story he had heard. The girl's death was a burden that Remy was learning to live with, he knew, and wondered how much it had changed the younger man. Wondered how much it played into the boy's self-appointed position as Rogue's rescuer. Wondered why he didn't mind more.

"It's my fault," Remy muttered. "I said Dane wouldn't hit her at school."

Logan shook his head. "You didn't know Creed was gonna be there. None of us did."

"But I'm the one said she'd be okay." Remy's face was haggard and grey, his hands shaking just a little as he tilted the bottle and took a sip.

"You really think you Chuck would've sent her back to school just on your say-so? You think I would?" Logan looked at him, and his eyes belied his gruff tone. "I'll kick your ass when we get her back."

"When?" Remy raised his gaze to Logan's. He couldn't quite stop himself from sounding hopeful.

Logan nodded. "When."

* * *

Rogue sat on the bed in her cell, knees pulled to her chest, fighting to keep her breathing slow and even. Moments after Essex left with an oily, "We'll talk soon," the personalities had flooded her again, beating against the walls of her mind like a flock of birds startled into flight.

She staggered to her feet, reeling at the internal cacophony. "You wanna eat," she gritted, "then shut the hell up."

To her surprise, the voices quieted slightly – just enough for her to inch across the room to the tray on the floor. A black-clad guard had dropped it off, one hand on the gun at his hip as he slid it across the threshold of the open door.

Her watch read nine o'clock, and since the meal on the tray was dinner-like, she assumed it was nighttime. Without a window, there was no way for her to tell for sure. She looked at the plate suspiciously. Broiled chicken, a roll, cooked carrots, an apple neatly cut into eighths. A plastic tumbler of milk. A perfectly balanced meal, the sort Scott made when he pulled dinner duty at the Institute. The thought of the mansion made her stomach clench in a way that had nothing to do with food.

She had been eyeing the tray for the better part of three hours, convinced that it was drugged, that eating anything provided by Essex was tantamount to surrender. But her last meal had been a hasty breakfast after the morning's session with Logan. She was hungry, and scared, and utterly, utterly alone. And principles, she realized, weren't going to quell the gnawing in her stomach.

Just as she crouched next to the tray, the door slid open.

"Still no dinner, Rogue?" Essex tsk'd. "You really should keep up your strength." He placed a metal chair inside the door, then sat down.

"For what?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

He considered her for a moment. "You have many questions, I'm sure. However, my answers are likely to prove unsatisfactory, at least this early in our relationship."

"We don't have a relationship," she ground out. "And the only answer Ah want is what the hell do _you _want?"

He reached down for the roll, studying it. "It's perfectly safe," he said. "You can't possibly think I would go to the trouble of bringing you here and then immediately do you harm."

"You _kidnapped _me!" she snapped. "What else would Ah think?"

He broke off a corner of the roll, then popped it in his mouth, giving her an indulgent smile. He held out the rest to her, but she crossed her arms and looked away.

"Your resolve is charming," he dryly.

"What do you want?"

He ignored her question again. "How is the suppression collar?" he asked. "It almost resembles some of that urban jewelry you seem to favor."

She bit down on her lower lip, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response.

"Come, Rogue. I would have thought you'd be thrilled to have the burden of your mutation lifted."

"Doesn't do me much good locked up here," she said.

"No, I suppose it doesn't. I find it quite useful. It's really an exceptional piece of engineering. I designed it myself, you know, especially for you."

"I'm flattered," she snarled. He wanted to brag, she realized dimly. Wanted to show off his inventions and his superiority and ultimately, his plan for her. He wanted to cow her with it, and that very arrogance, she decided in an instant, was exactly what she'd use to get out, or at least stay alive until the team came for her. "Lotta trouble for just one girl."

"You're not just any girl," he returned. He stood and moved closer, even as she backed away. "You are a singularity, Rogue. A sport, if you will. Charles Xavier may be unwilling to recognize that, to cultivate that which makes you so unique, but I have no such qualms."

"What do you want?" she asked in a low, angry voice.

"You are a key, my dear. You carry within your cells everything I need to unlock the secrets of mutantkind. With you as my guide, I can lay bare the very essence of mutants."

She stared, trying to quell the acid rising in her throat as she realized his meaning. "My DNA," she said flatly.

Essex only smiled.

"You want my DNA? Hell," she said, shoving up the sleeve of her shirt, "Ah'll give you a blood sample right now. Ah want to go home."

Essex merely gave her an indulgent smile. "While I appreciate the offer, it's unnecessary. I have your DNA. Your time in Area 51 was not without some use."

She stiffened. "You work for Trask?"

He scoffed. "Hardly. Colonel Trask's work at Area 51 was merely a reiteration of things I learned long ago. He piqued my interest solely because he had managed to acquire you. His tests were fairly limited, were they not?"

She gritted her teeth. "Seemed pretty thorough t'me."

"Eye of the beholder," he said dismissively. "Nevertheless, Trask's preliminary findings confirmed certain hypotheses I had formed regarding the nature of your mutation. Your recent experiences in Tibet helped to refine those ideas."

She thought back to her time at Area 51 – the countless samples of skin, blood, bone marrow, even spinal fluid – that Trask's men had taken from her. Unconsciously, she rubbed at the inside crook of her elbow, remembering the feel of rubber tubing knotted there. "If you've got all of that, what do you need me for?"

"Trask's experiments were limited in both depth and breadth – I'm seeking a more comprehensive understanding of how your gifts manifest themselves. And for that, I need you. You are the original, Rogue. Working directly with you affords me the greatest chance of success."

"Success at what?"

"I want to understand at the most essential level how mutations work. How to control them without resorting to collars, or other devices, like your friend Cyclops requires."

Rogue flinched just a little.

Essex continued. "I suspect that most mutations have far greater potential than we realize. Understanding how they appear on the genetic level is the first step towards achieving that potential."

"Golly," she drawled. "That's mighty big of you."

He inclined his head, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.

"If you're so damned noble, why kidnap me? You could ask the Professor and Beast for help, be upfront about it."

He stood, tugging at the sleeve of his white lab coat. "I sincerely doubt that your Professor would approve of my methods or how I choose to apply my findings. And I am not terribly inclined to share."

He reached out as if to touch her and she slapped his hand away without thinking. He just chuckled. "Pleasant dreams, Rogue."

Without giving her a chance to reply, he left. Rogue stood trembling with rage until the door slid shut. Slowly, she lowered herself to the bed and curled into a ball, tears sliding across her face and pooling on the mattress beneath her.

* * *

"We need a plan," Scott said firmly. "We need to think this through."

At the head of the briefing room's conference table, Xavier nodded his agreement. Rogue's kidnapping seemed to have aged him – his face had taken on the waxy translucence of a much older man, and his penetrating gaze had faded slightly, though it was no less intelligent. "The chances of finding Rogue without an organized approach are slim," he said.

"And Cerebro still isn't showing where they are?" Kurt asked, unable to disguise his frustration.

Jean turned to him, voice placating. "Cerebro picks up the neural signature of mutants. Rogue's signature hasn't appeared, but that's probably because of the collar."

"What about Sabretooth?" Kitty laid a comforting hand on Kurt's, gave a squeeze meant to reassure. He gripped back as if she were a lifeline.

Jean shifted, brow furrowed. "He's not showing up either. We think he's blocking it somehow, like Magneto did with his helmet."

"I'm afraid finding Rogue is going to rely upon more traditional methods of detective work," Xavier said. "We'll need to contact anyone who might have dealt with Sabretooth recently, find out all we can about Dane and his background."

"Follow the money," Remy said from his seat at the end of the table. When heads swiveled to him, he shrugged. "Dane wasn't workin' f'free. Whoever hired him paid somethin' up front. Follow that back, find de source."

Logan chewed his cigar, considering Remy's words. "He wouldn't have financed the Friends on his own, either. He brought in people to boost their numbers, supplied 'em with weapons. And Creed doesn't come cheap. Someone's got a lot of money and doesn't mind spending it."

"I can look into that," Kitty offered.

Xavier nodded tiredly. "At this point, it seems unlikely that Rogue was taken as leverage against me, which leads me to believe that her kidnapper is interested in her mutation."

"Apocalypse?" Scott asked.

"I don't think so. Rogue has already served her purpose for him – he has no further use for her, nor does she pose a threat."

"What about the collar?" Logan asked. "There's gotta be a trail there."

"I concur," said Hank. "That sort of engineering is staggeringly complicated; certainly, a mind that could develop such a device would not have gone unnoticed in scientific circles."

Logan flinched. Scientists meant labs. Labs meant experiments. "Follow up on it," he said. "I've got some circles of my own."

Xavier glanced at him sharply. _Fury_? he asked, and Logan nodded once, mouth tight.

Xavier's eyes swept the assembled group. "Very well. Scott, Ororo, Kurt – investigate both Sabretooth and Dane's recent activities. Kitty, please begin your research. Don't limit it to those two – find out what you can about the Friends and their financing. Hank, please unearth what you can about the maker of that collar. Jean and I will continue working with Cerebro. Logan…" he trailed off, momentarily at a loss for words. "I trust you can pursue your own investigation."

Deceptively laid-back, Logan jerked his chin toward Remy. "What are you gonna do, Gumbo?"

Remy looked at him evenly. "Make some calls. See some people. Find de Rogue."

Logan nearly smiled, and instead stood, pulling on his jacket and clapping his black cowboy hat on his head. "Let's go, then. We've wasted enough time."

* * *

"We'll start with something simple, I think," Essex said. "Ready, Rogue?"

"Let me go," she said, her voice hoarse with fury. They had come for her while she was still asleep, and while she had managed to break one guard's nose and dislocate another's shoulder, there was no fighting the tranquilizer dart they had fired. She had woken to find herself strapped to an operating table, her powers once again active and burning inside her.

Somehow, Rogue didn't find that a relief.

"Let me go!" she rasped again. Tugging at the restraints, she was chagrined to find there was no play at all in the thick metal cuffs – she was immobilized.

"For now, we'll stick with baseline humans. It should be easier to map the changes to the haplotypes of your DNA if we know precisely what we're adding to the mix."

Rogue turned her head. A boy – too skinny, with the raw pallor of one recently scrubbed clean, his head shorn close – was strapped to an adjacent table. His eyes were clenched shut, his breathing rapid and uneven. He had the clammy look of someone going into shock.

"What's your name?" she asked, unsurprised when he didn't answer. She glared at Essex. "He's a _kid_," she hissed.

"Oh, I assure you – he lacks the X-gene. We tested him thoroughly before your arrival."

"It's different on humans," she said urgently. "It doesn't work the same way. It could kill him."

He tilted his head, clearly curious. "How long does that take?"

She tried to steady her nerves, think back. How long had it taken to knock Cody unconscious? A few moments of his skin brushing against hers; certainly less than a minute. "Ah don't know. Not that long. A few minutes, maybe."

"Well then," he said briskly, "we'll start slowly. Build up to fatal exposure."

"No! That wasn't what Ah meant!"

"I'm sure it wasn't." He checked the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, then began to untie the hospital-style gown she wore.

"Stop! Don't touch me!" She tried to shrink away from Essex, but her bonds held fast as he affixed sensors to her chest and temples. She flushed, humiliated at the invasion.

"Rogue, I can hardly be expected to learn anything if I don't monitor your condition during the experiment."

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself away as Essex's fingers, cool and dusty in latex gloves, smoothed the wires over her chest. She could feel the personalities surging in her head, as if they could sense the imminent absorption. Defeat, and the knowledge of what was to come, tasted cold and ferric.

"There," Essex said, "I believe we're ready." With a whir, the armrest she was cuffed to swung towards the trembling boy.

She bit her lip, tasted blood as Remy's voice came unbidden to her, an echo of the day they had fought Dane on the rooftop. _Jus' hang on. Jus' hang on. _She did this all the time, she reminded herself. She might not enjoy the absorption – the more personalities she gathered inside herself, the more overwhelming each episode became – but it wasn't unmanageable. More horrific was the fact that her powers were, once again, being used against her will.

It was ironic, she often thought, that a girl who had named herself Rogue valued control over everything else. And that was the last thought she had before the tips of her fingers brushed against the boy's arm _Paul, my name is Paul_ and the borrowed memories of six months alone on the streets of New York left her feeling violated all over again.

It wasn't like absorbing a mutant – there were no powers to manage, just the flow of memories and psyche and life itself – and she concentrated on boxing Paul up as neatly as she could, walling him off from her mind with an efficiency that would have made the professor proud, had he witnessed it.

Over the din in her head, she could hear Essex muttering to himself, analyzing the monitor feeds, and she realized with a start that she was still touching the boy. The flow continued, more and more of his life pouring into her, and she writhed, trying to break the connection between them.

"_Essex!_" she gasped, and with an annoyed glance at her, he flipped a switch – the armrest swung away, and the connection was broken.

He strode over to her and immediately drew another vial of blood, handing it off to a waiting technician. "Describe what happened."

She shivered, still reeling from the transfer – she didn't know how much time had passed, but if her reaction was any gauge, she had absorbed more of Paul than anyone else. She couldn't bear to turn and look at the boy lying next to her, but she had to know. "Is he dead?"

"It hardly signifies. Describe what happened."

She tried for a sneer, but couldn't keep from shaking and sweating. "Ain't that why you have all those machines?"

"They can't tell me how you feel, only how your body reacts to the absorption."

"Screw you."

"You might want to reconsider your defiance, Rogue. Your victim," she winced visibly as the barb struck home, and he continued, "is alive. Whether he remains that way is up to you. It would be a simple matter to lengthen the exposure time – to determine exactly how long you need to drain someone's life force completely and irrevocably."

She forced down the nausea, forced the turbulent beating of Paul's mind further back into her own as Essex smiled down pleasantly at her. "Describe what happened," he said again with the good nature of someone who knows they have won before the game even begins, "and do try to be detailed."

She closed her eyes. "Everything flashes," she began softly. "Like lightning."

* * *

A/N: Yes, haplotypes are a real part of your DNA. No, I don't know significantly more than that. Any further science that appears here will be mostly made-up.

Next chapter: More experiments. The team searches for Rogue. Remy makes a deal. Kitty makes a discovery.

Many thanks to all the nice reviewers!


	26. Just Hang On

To recap what was posted so long ago -- Rogue has been captured by Essex, and (of course) he's planning to use her to build a better mutant by exposing her to humans and mutants and charting what happens to her DNA.

At the mansion, the X-Men are trying to track Rogue down, and Remy and Logan have bonded over Remy's explanation of what happened in Paris.Several years ago, he seduced another thief, Genevieve Darceneaux, in order to steal a priceless necklace. Unfortunately, Sabretooth held Remy's brother and Genevieve hostage to get the jewel back, and Remy had to choose which hostage to save. He chose Henri, and Gennie was dropped to her death. It was all quite tragic, really, and poor Remy has felt guilty ever since.

And here you go.

* * *

"You're recovering nicely," Essex said, examining her bare hands carefully.

Rogue stayed silent, glaring at Essex and fighting the urge to strain at the now-familiar metal restraints that held her in place. It was useless to rise to his bait, she knew, and while she still put up a fight every time the guards came to her cell, it was only to convince herself that she hadn't given up completely.

Essex made a notation on the chart he carried, then moved to her feet. "Victor's healing factor does prove useful, doesn't it?"

She craned her head, attempting to get a better look at her hands. The periodic skin samples he took from them were becoming routine, as was the post-harvest absorption of Sabretooth. Even after her skin regrew, her hands and feet still tingled with a searing pain at odd moments. Rogue couldn't tell if it was a phantom pain or if the regeneration was somehow incomplete. Her hands, though, looked fine. Slim, white, long-fingered, with nails bitten down to the quick. Even healing factors couldn't fix that.

"I'm very pleased with the latest test results," he said as he reviewed a nearby computer screen. "You're exhibiting traces of the foreign DNA for longer and longer periods."

She nearly snarled at him. "You're making me hold on for longer," she snapped. "That's how it works, dumbass."

He smiled, cool and patronizing. "Perhaps. But it's also possible that your body is learning how to preserve the changes. It's quite encouraging."

She tried to shrug. She had lost count of how many mutants she had absorbed since arriving in the lab, but the personalities collecting in her head were taking a greater effort to control each time, despite her attempts to integrate them, despite the carefully constructed walls she had grown so skilled at putting up. The idea that her body was collecting mutations the way her head was collecting residents was hardly what she would call encouraging.

Essex moved closer, affixed the leads to her chest. "You know, Rogue, I think we're close to a breakthrough. One that should appeal even to you."

"Ah kinda doubt that."

"Come, now. Every time you experience another absorption, I map another change to your haplotypes. Once we've completed this phase, I will possess a thorough understanding of which genes control which mutations. And that is the key to controlling them," he added meaningfully.

"Control them," she said slowly. "You could turn it off?"

"Eventually, yes. Just think," he continued, eyes gleaming, smile wide and unsettling, "the ability to induce mutations in any strand of DNA. To combine them. To cancel them. All based on your genetic template, Rogue. It's beautiful, really. Elegant."

"You're lying."

He sobered. "I never lie about science."

She shook her head. "It can't be controlled. The professor said -- "

He cut her off smoothly, amusement coloring his voice. "You're made of molecules, my dear, not magic. Certainly, it's a complex bit of science, but controlling mutations is by no means impossible. Of course, if your professor admitted that, he'd lose his hold over you. You're a powerful young woman, Rogue. Xavier has held out the possibility of control like a carrot, and you've followed along dutifully, just as he had hoped for. You fight for his side, you allow him to harness your abilities to further his agendas, and you give him tacit control of your skills. What incentive does he have to encourage your independence?"

_He just does. He's the Professor!_ she wanted to insist. But defending him to Essex seemed childish somehow, seemed to mark her belief in the Professor as gullible and naïve. Especially, she thought grimly, when he hadn't sent the rest of the team to rescue her yet. She knew from her time in Area 51 that an extraction took time to plan, even once the target was located. But at night, curled in her cell with the echoes of her latest victims fresh in her mind, she couldn't help but wonder what was taking the X-Men so long.

Then again, she reminded herself, she had no idea how long she'd been here with Essex. At the very least, a few weeks – at most, a couple of months. The absorptions and experiments occurred at random intervals. She had days where she absorbed four mutants, and days where she did nothing but sit in her cell and wait. She used the time to meditate, to keep up her training, to recall every bit of her time at the Institute as a defense against the memories of the other personalities.

Now, though, she flinched as Essex double-checked the restraints and tried to marshal her energy for the next absorption.

A technician entered, pushing an orange-skinned mutant on a gurney. Rogue couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, knew the question would be answered for her in a few minutes anyway.

The other mutant looked at her, eyes slitted like a cat's and wide with fear.

"Ah'm sorry," she whispered, and returned her gaze to the ceiling as the motorized arm of her gurney whirred and her hand reached out.

* * *

Remy ducked into the diner, jerked his chin in recognition at the figure in the back booth. He unbuttoned his trench and slid in across from the other man. 

"Coffee?" asked the waitress, an apple-cheeked blonde in a pink uniform dress. She looked, Remy thought, like she had just stepped off the bus from Iowa.

"You an' angel, petite," he drawled, rewarding her with a warm, slow smile. He turned the cup over. "De pecan pie as sweet as you?"

She blushed. "Yes. I mean, no. I'm not…it's good."

"Okay, den. I'll take a piece. _Merci_."

She blushed and poured the coffee, then scampered back behind the counter. The other man rolled his eyes. "You gotta do that with every waitress you meet?"

He shrugged. "Always good t'keep y'hand in. Besides, it don' cost nothin'." He took a sip of the coffee, bitter and burned from sitting too long, and grimaced. "An' mebbe she decide t'brew a fresh pot for de handsome Cajun, _non_?"

Anton Vesaly scoffed. "Every time I meet up with you, Gambit, it's the same thing. You schmooze the waitress, and order pecan pie."

"I like pecan pie. Ain' a crime."

"Nope. But you never eat it. Two, three bites, and you leave the rest. What's up with that?"

"Never tastes right. Too Yankee."

Anton stared at him. "No offense, man, but you are one weird sonofabitch."

"Been called worse, _mon ami_." They fell silent as the waitress the pie and a fresh pot of coffee. Remy took another, cautious sip and sighed in relief. Then his gaze sharpened. "You asked around, den?"

Anton Vesaly nodded regretfully. "Nobody tried to hire any of my people to take her, Gambit. Truth is, we probably would've passed on the job."

"_Non_?" His voice was only slightly suspicious, but he kept his eyes on Anton as he took a bite of pie.

"She was an X-Man, wasn't she?"

"Still is," Remy said stiffly, the pie suddenly tasting chalky at the implication.

"Yeah, well, it wouldn't exactly be good for business, you know? We don't like that kind of attention."

Remy nodded. Of all his contacts in the New York guild, Anton was the one he trusted most – experienced enough to have proven his talent and trustworthiness, young enough that he didn't automatically cast his vote with the older generation of thieves. And most importantly, he was discreet.

"What 'bout Dane?" Mechanically, he took another bite, chewed thoughtfully.

Anton's recitation was professional and brisk. "Low-key. We'd heard of him, but never crossed paths before. No guild affiliations. Worked New York and Boston, mostly. Hired muscle, but smart."

"Dead," Remy said dryly.

Anton chuckled, took out a cigarette, and offered one to Remy. "That too."

Remy shook his head, but lit Anton's with a touch. "Anything else I should know 'bout?"

Anton paused, taking a deep drag, and weighed exactly how much he could tell Remy without betraying Jean-Luc LeBeau's confidence. Gambit's appearance in New York had seemed like a boon, to begin with. As Harvest Master, Anton knew exactly how much the mutant's escapades had contributed to the New York Guild's coffers. What he hadn't planned on was balancing his appreciation of Gambit's value with the honor and loyalty due the senior LeBeau.

A middle road, he decided, would be the smartest bet. "Your family's been asking about you."

Remy's shoulders slumped for a moment, weighed down by pressures than Anton could only guess at. "Figures." He set his fork down and pushed the plate away.

Anton was struck with a sudden pang of sympathy for the younger man. Jean-Luc's frequent calls to check on Remy and his renewed optimism in his son's return didn't bode well for Remy's future in New York. "You ask me, Gambit, your old man's not buyin' the whole, 'you can't go home again' line. I'm just sayin'."

"Yeah," he said wearily, scrubbing his hand over his face. Then he straightened. "_Merci_, Anton. I 'preciate y'help. I owe you one, hein?"

Anton finished his cigarette, stood to leave. "Good luck, man. Cherchez la femme, huh?" Sure-shay, it sounded like, and Remy winced slightly at the mangled pronunciation.

"Somethin' like dat." He nodded goodbye and stared at the plate in front of him.

"Was something wrong with the pie, sir?" asked the waitress.

He gave her a tired smile. "Pie ain' de problem," he said, and pressed a twenty into her hand as he left.

* * *

Scott watched the scene in the Danger Room, his mouth set in a grim line. 

Standing next to him, Jamie whispered, "He's been coming here every day. For _weeks_. Ever since Rogue…"

"Thanks for letting me know, Jamie. I'll take it from here." His eyes didn't leave the observation windows.

Jamie started to say something else, then sighed and trudged out.

Scott stared at the simulation taking place below him. After Rogue's abduction, they had reconstructed the scene at the school, hoping that they might find clues to her whereabouts. It hadn't worked, though, and the team had moved on to other tactics.

Kurt, it seemed, wasn't done with the simulation. As Scott watched, Kurt replayed the attack over and over, each time trying to save all three girls.

Each time, he failed.

Kitty, Scott noticed, usually made it out okay – even a simulated Kitty had the presence of mind to phase through trouble. But no matter how quickly Kurt moved, he couldn't get Amanda clear of danger before Dane put the collar on Rogue. Time and time again, Sabretooth and Dane either took Rogue or killed Amanda. Sometimes they did both.

Finally, Scott slapped the override switch and the scene froze, the projections of Dane, Sabretooth, and the girls vanishing instantly. Without waiting to see Kurt's reaction, he strode to the Danger Room.

Kurt paced in front of the door, a frenetic blur. "Turn it back on!" he demanded.

"Why? So you can keep beating yourself up?"

He stopped his back-and-forth and fixed Scott with an angry glare. "Turn it back on," he said, turning sullen. "I'm not hurting anything."

Scott ignored him, looked around the locker room. "Jamie says you've been running this sim for a while."

Kurt shrugged. "I guess."

"Is it helping?" He leaned against the wall nonchalantly.

"What do you think?" Kurt asked bitterly.

He tried a different tack. "Have you heard from Amanda?"

"No. She's somewhere in Europe. Her parents won't tell me any more than that."

"I'm sorry," Scott said, frowning. "I know you care about her."

Kurt's tail whipped back and forth in anger. "She almost _died_ because of me!"

"She's _alive_ because of you," Scott countered. "Rogue could have called Sabretooth's bluff. She didn't because she knew you couldn't stand to see Amanda hurt."

"That's why he targeted her!" Kurt shouted. "Amanda was in danger because of me. Rogue made the switch because of me. It's my fault they're gone!" Enraged, he pummeled a nearby locker.

Scott watched until he was finished beating on the metal, then said quietly, "You know, when my parents died, I thought Alex was dead, too. I thought my whole family was gone. And I blamed myself."

"That was a plane crash," Kurt said. "It's not the same."

"My mom and dad gave us their parachutes. Did you know that? The plane didn't have enough, and so they strapped me and Alex in. My mom told me to take care of Alex, but I lost sight of him when I landed, and when I woke up, he was gone."

"You couldn't…"

Scott cut him off with a shake of his head. "The way I saw it, if it wasn't for me, my mom would still be alive. Alex, too, if I had taken better care of him. I felt like I had failed all of them."

The younger boy was silent.

"It took me a long time to stop hating myself. Eventually, I figured out that my mom gave me a gift that day. She gave me a _chance_. Sitting around wishing I was dead seemed like a crappy way to repay her."

"Rogue…" Kurt began.

"…was giving you a gift," Scott said firmly, and pushed away from the wall. "Amanda would have died, Kurt, and you know it. If you really want to repay her, ask yourself if sitting around and torturing yourself is the best way to do that. If it's not, ask the Professor how you can help find Rogue. There's no shortage of stuff to do."

With that, he strode out, leaving Kurt alone in the echoing locker room. He sank to the floor, head in his hands, and stayed that way for a long time. Finally, he stood and walked slowly the control panel. Shutting down the sequence, he stared at the smooth steel walls of the danger room, and then headed to Xavier's office.

* * *

The bar was located in a neighborhood not known for its neighborliness – the sort of place where minding your own business was less a philosophy and more a survival technique. It was, Logan thought as he slammed Vinnie DeLorenzo's head against the grimy table, Sabretooth's kind of place. He bounced Vinnie's head against the scarred wood again, a reflexive anger pushing at his control. Deliberately, the bartender turned away and took a renewed interest in polishing shot glasses. 

"Last chance, bub. Where's Creed?" Vinnie might be a thuggish little weasel, Logan thought, but he wasn't stupid.

"I don't know, Wolverine, I swear!" As Logan's fingers moved to his throat, the stocky man gasped, "I've heard things!"

Logan loosened his grip fractionally. "Things like what? Talk fast, Vinnie. I've got three more appointments tonight."

The smaller man struggled to stand upright, wiped ineffectually at the blood pouring from his nose. "He hasn't been around much. He's workin'."

"No shit. Tell me who."

"I don't know, honest!"

"You ain't tellin' me anything I don't already know." And Vinnie knew something – of that, Logan was certain. It probably wasn't much. The balding, sniveling cretin in front of him wasn't a big enough player to have any significant information, but every rumor, every hint, brought Rogue's captor into clearer focus. Frustration had him slamming his fist into Vinnie's stomach.

"Wait! The guy that hired him…" Vinnie wheezed, doubled over.

"Yeah?"

"It's exclusive. Creed's off the market – he ain't takin' any jobs."

Logan stopped himself from reaching for the little man's windpipe again and considered this. "None?" Creed _always_ worked multiple jobs – more money, more bloodshed. An exclusive contract was too pricey for all but the dirtiest black-market buyers. Even Magneto had allowed Creed to moonlight, though reluctantly. If Vinnie was right, Rogue's captor had deeper pockets than they had guessed.

"None," Vinnie confirmed eagerly. "He's all over the place, too."

Logan nodded. He'd had reports of Sabretooth across the country – big cities and small towns, never long enough for Logan to give chase or to figure out his plan. "That's not real helpful," he growled. "What's he doin'?"

Vinnie stared at him. "You haven't heard?"

"What?"

"He's taking mutants, Wolverine. Just snatches 'em up and vanishes, and that's all she wrote."

* * *

Piotr listened silently as Remy brought him up to date. "And there is no luck yet finding the Rogue? After a month?" 

"_Nyet_."

Even over the phone, he could sense Colossus' wry smile. "You should leave the Russian to me, my friend."

"Prob'ly." Remy stretched out on the couch, propping his legs on the arm of the couch. Midnight in New York translated to breakfast in Moscow, and he could hear the hiss of the tea kettle in the background.

"You are wondering where to find Victor, then. You think he will lead you to the girl," Piotr stated.

"If he wants t'keep his fur, yeah." So far, every lead they had tracked back to Sabretooth. If they wanted to find Rogue, it was clear they'd need to find Creed first.

Piotr's voice was solemn and regretful. "I am sorry. I have not seen him since I returned home. She is important to you, yes?"

Remy ignored the question, reaching for the bourbon he had set on a nearby end table. "How's things on your end?"

The Russian blew out a short huff of frustration. "Illyana is still missing as well. I have spoken to people – government people – but there are many forms to fill out. Many questions to ask, and everyone wants more money to…"

Remy swallowed the alcohol, savored the sweet burn down his throat. "Grease de wheel."

"Da."

The two men were silent. Over the faint hiss of the connection, Remy could hear the Russian tapping on the crown of a hard-boiled egg – the first of six Piotr ate each day, he remembered.

"Xavier could help you find her," Remy said eventually. "He would."

"He would aid a foe?" The deep voice was skeptical. "What would he gain from such a thing?"

"Don' know. But it's worth a shot."

"It is difficult," Colossus said quietly, "The not-knowing."

He took another sip and stared unseeing at the glass in front of him. "Tell me 'bout it."

Piotr chuckled despite himself. "I think you will find your Rogue," he said. "And when you do, then your not-knowing will truly begin. That, I would like to see."

"Glad you're lookin' forward to it," Remy said dryly. "Think 'bout getting' in touch with Xavier, homme."

"Thank you," the other man responded. "I shall consider it. Good luck on your search, my friend."

_

* * *

She surveys the boathouse. All the kids use it for…assignations isn't the right word, exactly. Privacy, perhaps. God knows she's spotted Jean and Scott heading off here often enough. But this is the first time she's been in the clapboard cabin next to the water. _

_It doesn't look like she expected. It is weathered and rustic, utilitarian. She had assumed the boathouse would be as beautifully appointed as the mansion itself, but there are benches along one wall, a stove and firewood along another, and a battered formica table has been pushed to the back, along with three wooden chairs. It smells like the sea and the forest together, a combination that is oddly soothing. _

_Remy closes the door and draws the latch, turns to her and smiles. The sun is setting, rosy light filtering through the high, square windows on one side, deepening periwinkle on the other. Everything is shadowed, and the oil lanterns scattered around the room give off pockets of light that flicker only slightly .The cast-iron stove throws off just enough warmth to ease the sharpness in the air. Remy's eyes seem to glow like coals, and she could swear they're warming her as well._

_When he slides his arms around her waist and pulls her in, it seems only natural to curl her hands in his sweater, and she realizes she doesn't need the stove at all._

"_You clean up okay," she says softly. Her voice is oddly hoarse; nerves, she realizes, and a touch of self-consciousness. _

_He takes a step back, brushes his thumb over the small silk rose at her waist. She shifts her weight, presses her hip against his hand._

"_Not too shabby either, chere. Didn't t'ink you had anything 'cept black in y'closet."_

_She raises one brow, pretends to examine the dark green satin. "There's some grey," she says with mock irritation._

_He chuckles and nods. "Kitty 'n 'Manda did good."_

_She smiles and steps toward him again. "Yeah."_

_He gestures to a white cloth on the floor, an overflowing picnic basket on top. "Brought food," he says, "Can't say I'm real hungry, though."_

"_No?"_

"Non_. Brought music, too." He leans over and turns on a CD player, and a woman's voice pours out, sweet and wistful, full of promise and regret all at once._

"_Dinner and dancing?" she asks, slightly giddy at the idea._

"_Promised you a date, _non_?" He pulls her close again and they begin to sway._

"_Ah don't know how to dance," she points out._

"_Easy as fallin' off a log, chere. Y'just follow."_

"_Ah don't know how to do that, either."  
_

_One hand curves firmly around her waist, the other takes hers and holds it out the way she's seen in the movies. Her free hand drifts to his shoulder and he smiles down at her. "Y'just keep things tense enough t' feel where I'm goin'," he says._

"_Ah've got a pretty good idea of where you're goin'," she says dryly, but lets him move her around the room, relishing the feel of his body so close to hers._

"_Remy?" she says tentatively, a few minutes later._

"_Yeah."_

_She hesitates, doesn't meet his eyes. "Thank you."_

"_F'what?" They've stopped really dancing now, and she rests her head on his chest while they move in a slow circle. His mouth brushes lightly against her hair._

"_All of this. Tonight. Rescuin' me. Bein' here." She almost stops, but something about the way his arms have tightened around her and the steady beat of his heart under her cheek give her courage, and she knows, dimly, in the recesses of her mind, that they're running out of time. "Bein' with you…it's like a dream, sometimes."_

_The flickering in his eyes dims slighty and he tips her face up to his. "It is," he agrees sadly, and gently touches his lips to hers. "I'm sorry, chere."_

"_Why?" She stands on tiptoe and kisses him again, startled by how soft his lips are. She traces the high, sharp line of his cheekbone, feeling the slightest hint of stubble, and stares at her bare hand. "Remy?" she asks, confusion setting in._

"_I'm sorry, chere," he repeats. "Jus' hang on."_

She woke up in the empty cell, startled to find her cheeks wet.

"Bad dream?" Sabretooth's voice echoed in the darkness.

She bolted upright, scrambled off the bed as the door slid open.

"Get out!" she snapped, brushing at the tears. Maybe he could smell them, maybe it was what had drawn him to her cell to begin with – Sabretooth preferred his prey weakened – but she wasn't going to let him see the evidence. "Get _out!_"

"Poor Mouse," he said mockingly, leaning against the edge of the door. "All alone in your little hole. Don't you want some company?"

"Not if it's yours," she retorted as he stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him.

"Feeling homesick? Missing your little friends?" He moved closer to her, and she backed away, trying to keep the aluminum chair between them. "They're not coming, you know. No rescue for the Rogue this time."

In one easy move, he vaulted over the chair, landing only inches away from her. She could feel her muscles tightening, her heart rate spiking with adrenaline. Even the personalities in her head seemed to tense instinctively. When she answered, though, she made certain he heard only irritation, not fear.

"They're lookin' for me. And they'll find me." She dropped into a fighting stance, the edge of the cot just brushing the backs of her legs. She had fought him before, she reminded herself. She had _won_ before, and she was still that girl – powers or no powers, she was still Rogue. She could still fight.

"How long have you been here?"

She looked away, unwilling to admit she didn't know, and he used her hesitation to pounce, slamming her back on the bed.

Reflex had her kneeing him in the groin, and he roared, grasped her by the throat. He squeezed, and black dotted her vision. With an effort, she kicked out with both legs, caught him in the stomach with enough force to knock him back, and gasped when he released his hold on her windpipe. She scrambled away, but he recovered quickly and threw her down again, jammed his knee in the small of her back to keep her immobile. She turned her head to keep from suffocating in the thin mattress.

"They aren't coming," he repeated, digging his knee into her spine for emphasis. "They don't want you. They don't _need_ you, you stupid little bitch. Don't you think Wolverine is tired of saving your sorry ass? You're supposed to be a _fighter_. He should see you now."

She wrenched her body to the side, dug into her integrated memories for the only weapon she had. "Must piss you off, knowin' you can't beat Logan. Knowin' he's always better," she spat. "Sticks in your craw, don't it? No wonder you have to go after somebody smaller. Somebody without powers. It's the only way you get to be the big man."

"Big enough to shut you up," he snarled, twisting her arm up behind her back. Then he leaned in closer, as if confiding a secret. "It doesn't matter. He gave up on you. And you can forget about LeBeau, Mouse. He forgot about you the minute you were gone."

She swung wildly with the other arm, struggled to push off the cot enough to topple the other mutant. "You don't know a damn thing about Remy an' me!"

"You bought it," he jeered. "You bought that idiot Cajun's act. Did he call you chere? Did he tell you how special you were? He always does."

She screamed with frustration, bucked underneath him in a frantic attempt to free herself, but he just laughed unpleasantly.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it? Gambit wasn't gonna waste his time on a girl he couldn't touch." He cocked his head, considered her for a moment. "But I can."

She froze at the nape of her neck began to sting, then burn. He was cutting open the surgical scrubs she was wearing, she realized, leaving a needle-fine scratch along her spine. "Swear to God," she rasped, the mattress rough against her cheek, "Ah will fucking kill you. Ah will take you _apart_. There won't be enough left for Logan to cut."

"If you're not going to beg, Mouse, then shut the fuck up."

She swallowed, battled the wave of panic that was cresting as the fabric of her shirt slid away, leaving her back completely exposed. He ducked his head and bit her shoulder before straightening and beginning to cut through the waistband on her pants. "You're pathetic," she hissed, fear pitching her voice higher as she struggled against him. "Is this the only way you can get a girl? Let go of me, you freak show!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him raise a meaty hand as if to strike, then halt as a voice called from the corridor, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree, Victor. You're overstepping your bounds. Let her go."

Creed growled as the door slid open. Rogue sagged with relief, closing her eyes briefly.

"We have an agreement, Victor," Essex chided, entering the cell. With a low rumble of frustration, Creed's knee left her back and Rogue scrambled up, shrinking into the corner.

"I wasn't going to hurt her."

Essex merely raised an eyebrow.

"Much," Creed amended.

"I haven't finished with her," Essex said coolly. "Our agreement stipulates you take possession after my work is complete, which it certainly is not."

Rogue pulled the thin blanket around her shoulders, gaze flickering wildly between the two men.

"We're not done, Mouse," Creed snarled, eyes glittering. "Wait for me."

She ignored him as he stalked out, focusing instead on breathing normally.

Essex studied her dispassionately, then shook his head. "I'm sorry Victor frightened you. It won't happen again." He paused, adding, "It's not really about you, of course."

Her laugh of disbelief turned into a sob before she could stop it. "Coulda fooled me."

"As alluring as you may be, Rogue, Victor's actions don't spring from any desire for you, specifically. I'm afraid he sees you as a means to an end."

"What end is that? Gettin' his rocks off?" Her fists clenched, the ragged edges of her nails digging into her palms as she resisted the impulse to curl into a ball and weep. It seemed vital, somehow, to keep from breaking down in front of Essex.

"I'm sure that's part of it. He's a man of very…primal…urges. But you also serve as a way to extract revenge."

"On me?" Essex shook his head slightly, and she thought hard for a moment. "Logan."

"I'm sure he would find it quite satisfying to inform his enemy that he had violated you. Telling Mr. Lebeau would be icing on the proverbial cake."

Gripped by a wave of nausea, she sprang out of bed and barely managed to reach the toilet before vomited. Ignoring Essex, she turned to the sink, rinsing her mouth out and splashing her face with cool water.

"Would you like some fresh clothing?"

She hitched up the torn cotton pants with one hand, clutched the blanket around her shoulders with the other, and nodded mutely.

"I'll just be a moment." He stepped out of the room, sealing the door after him, and Rogue sagged against the wall, a mixture of fear, shame, and fury making her light-headed.

Essex returned a moment later and handed her a fresh pile of clothing. "You must know that I don't advocate Victor's actions here tonight, but they do serve to illustrate a valuable point."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" She slipped the fresh top on without removing the old one and carried the pants to the bed, still holding up the ruined scrubs with one hand.

"I am the closest thing you have to an ally. No one else, Rogue – not even your beloved X-Men – truly values you for yourself. Each of them, friend and enemy alike, is using you in some way."

"What do you mean?" She was starting to shake now, her teeth chattering with spent adrenaline. With an effort, she willed herself to stay calm.

"Victor, as we've just ascertained, sees you merely as a instrument with which to cause his enemies pain. Professor Xavier views you as a force to be appropriately channeled. Mystique used you to curry favor with those more powerful than herself. Wolverine sees you as his charge -- the poor lost lamb he feels honor-bound to protect, and Mr. Lebeau believes you to be his last, best, chance at redemption."

Her head snapped up at that, eyes narrowed.

He continued, his tone nonchalant, ignoring her reaction. "They all want something from you, Rogue. They all need you to fulfill some sort of role."

She mustered a sneer. "And you don't?"

"I appreciate you, Rogue. I understand you." He spread his arms out, palms upturned magnanimously. "All I want is to help you realize your full potential."

"Bullshit," she said roughly. "You just need me to play guinea pig. You don't know me at all."

"I know every cell in your body," he countered.

She choked back more bile. "Ah'm more than just my cells," she said more insistently than she felt. "Maybe what you said about the others is true, but you're a million times worse."

"My motives are pure, Rogue. Everything I've done has been in service to an ideal higher than power or politics or personal salvation. Can you say the same about your friends? About Xavier?"

"My friends," she said, low and angry, "want me to be happy. You just want to play God."

He stood. "This is tiresome, my dear. In time, you'll see how right I am. You'll understand the tremendous gift I am giving you. Meanwhile, you might consider Victor's point: your 'friends' haven't come for you, even after all this time. Perhaps they've tired of looking." With that, he left.

She lay down on the cot, curling into a ball. "Tired, my ass," she whispered to the darkness. Even as she spoke, though, a dark worm of doubt wound its way through her.

She had always questioned Xavier's invitation to join the team. She wasn't polished and powerful, like Jean, or as enthusiastic as Kitty. She had none of Storm's resolve or Scott's integrity, or Kurt's good-heartedness. Even borrowing their powers didn't grant her those attributes, and so the Professor's welcome made her leery even as she accepted, even after she had – literally – burned her bridges with Mystique and the Brotherhood. She liked the Professor, even respected him. But she never forgot that he had offered her sanctuary for no reason except that she needed it, and that was enough to make her wonder. It was possible Essex was right – Xavier was nothing if not shrewd, and even she realized that a lifeforce-draining mutant probably made a better friend than enemy.

As much as she wanted to believe that Kurt wouldn't give up on her, it wasn't impossible. She had cost him his mother, had put the girl he loved in jeopardy. Unbidden, the memory of Amanda's throat, dotted with blood from Sabretooth's claw, rose in her mind. Kurt might like his life better with her out of it.

Kitty had promised the team would find her, she remembered. But Kitty was only one voice. She wasn't in charge. If the senior staff had decided to give up on her, there wasn't much chance that Kit alone could track her down.

She shifted restlessly on the bed and considered Remy. Missing Remy was like pressing on a bruise – it ached all the time, really, but it was almost natural at this point. Thinking about him, though, made the hurt fresh all over again. In the two months she had spent with Remy at the mansion, there were things she was certain of:

He made good coffee.

He liked to watch the sun rise and then sleep until the afternoon.

He never backed down.

He wanted her.

But for every certainty, she had ten doubts – and chief among them was why he wanted her. Was it the challenge? Or the fact things could never be truly serious? Essex had suggested that Remy wanted redemption and saw her as a way to get it, and something about the idea stuck with her. The problem with Remy, she decided, was that there were too many questions, and she wasn't sure she wanted the answers.

But Logan? She had never questioned Logan, never wondered if he had some ulterior motive for being her friend. They were complicated, she had once told Remy, but they had never been a _lie_. She and Logan were friends because they were too much alike not to be. Because they understood each other. Because there had never been a need for pretense or niceties, or so she had thought. The idea that he had seen her as only a stray that needed rescuing, a source of pity and obligation, left her reeling.

His voice, simultaneously gruff and gentle, echoed through her head. _You can't rely on other people to make you happy. To make you whole. You gotta do that yourself_, he had said.

She turned the idea over and over in her head, examining it from every angle. She had known all along that Logan was pushing her towards independence, autonomy, a self-sufficiency that would keep her whole even as she took on more responsibility on the team. But she had always assumed he had done so because he recognized something of himself in her – a kinship that made him want to help her find a better path than his own. She had never considered the idea that he was trying to get rid of her and her baggage, easing his conscience at the same time. Even now, it didn't ring true. Logan had never sugarcoated anything for her. He had never gone easy on her, she realized, because he respected her.

She sat up as the epiphany warmed her. Logan wasn't using her. He hadn't forgotten her, or given up, and if Essex was wrong about Logan, he could be wrong about the rest of the team as well.

Stiffly, she finished changing into the fresh scrubs, ignoring the pain lancing down her back and across her shoulder. If the team wasn't here, it was because they couldn't find her, and that meant only one thing: she'd need to find them.

Centering herself, she considered. She'd absorbed Sabretooth at least five times since she had arrived at the lab. There should be enough information there, if she integrated him again, to learn the layout of the lab. Of course, she thought wryly, plotting a way out, defeating all of Essex's security, and fighting an army of guards would require more information. More skills. More experience.

For the first time since she had arrived at the lab, she smiled. She had everything she needed to escape squirreled away in the recesses of her mind. All she needed to do was draw it out and make it her own.

* * *

A frillion thanks to Katt for the multiple betas, and all my reviewers, who make me go gooey inside.

Next up: Hank does research. Kitty makes a discovery. Remy phones home, and home phones him. Rogue gets a roommate, in a manner of speaking.


	27. Peripetia

Thanks to Katt, again for the multiple and effusive betas, and to Ishandahalf, because she writes lovely, thoughtful reviews that also make me laugh out loud.

To recap the previous chapter – Essex told Rogue he could give her control over her mutation. Remy used Guild and Acolyte contacts to help search for Rogue. Scott and Kurt had a bonding moment. Logan beat up people for information. Rogue dreamed of Remy, fought off Sabretooth, and was rescued by Essex, who then told her that everyone in the world – including Remy – was using her. She realized that she'd have to escape, rather than wait for a rescue.

* * *

Xavier glanced up and guided his wheelchair around the desk as Hank entered his private office.

"I take it you've found something, then."

The Beast nodded, his face somber. "It's not as much as one would have hoped for, Charles, especially considering how long it's taken."

"At this point,_ any _progress is positive." Frustration had etched new lines around his mouth and eyes, and he gestured to the nearby coffee table. "Please, sit and have some tea."

"Thank you." Hank arranged his sizeable bulk on the settee. "I've been able to determine, as accurately as I can, the scientist responsible for the technology behind the collar."

"There's a problem?"

"It's a man named Dr. Michael Milbury – I've been reading through the work he's published in various journals, and he seems the most likely candidate. One of his articles discussed the effect of localized electro-magnetic fields on mutated DNA strands. If that is how the collar works -- and both Forge and I suspect that's the case -- it stands to reason that he may be involved somehow."

"It seems the logical progression, yes. Milbury," he mused. "That name seems familiar."

Hank poured tea for both of them, added milk and sugar to his own. "Perhaps, but I would be astonished to find you've met the man."

Xavier shot McCoy a quizzical look. "Really? Why is that?"

"Dr. Milbury, it seems, does not exist."

He paused in the act of adding lemon to his teacup. "How is that possible?"

"He's published a number of papers, but never presents them at conferences. He has no affiliation in medical, educational, or scientific circles. I cannot determine where, if at all, he received his doctoral degree. No one I've spoken with recalls ever having seen him in person, and the last article attributed to him was written several years ago."

Xavier frowned. "I see. That's disconcerting, to say the least. What else do we know about him?"

Hank looked down at the paper in front of him. "Despite his elusiveness, Dr. Milbury has made quite an impression in the scientific world. Nearly everyone I interviewed held the same interpretation – the man is unquestionably brilliant, and utterly obsessed with harnessing mutations for genetic engineering. His more recent papers on the topic have not been published because they disregard all ethical standards for experimentation." Unconsciously, his lips curled in disgust.

"Ah. A troubling combination."

"Indeed."

The two men sat in silence. "Do you believe she's still alive?" Hank asked carefully, setting down his cup.

Charles answered without hesitation. "I do. Your findings confirm that – Rogue's mutation would certainly appeal to Milbury, and to harm her would be like killing the golden goose, to put it crudely."

"So you believe Milbury is behind her abduction?"

"Dr. Michael Milbury doesn't exist," Xavier reminded him. "But I'm virtually certain that his creator is responsible for taking Rogue."

Hank shook his head doubtfully. "That seems like precious little to go on, Charles."

"It's more than we had before. The students – especially Kurt and Kitty – are struggling. The lack of progress is difficult for them to bear. They've been losing hope. You've opened up a few more avenues for us to explore, and perhaps that will buoy them until we find her." He sipped at his tea, his features carefully schooled to mask his own doubt. "I'm grateful to you for unearthing all of this, Hank. Please let me know if anything else turns up."

"Of course." He stood and handed Xavier the file. "This copy is for you. I'll let you know what else I discover."

* * *

"There's got to be_ something _I can do to help," Kurt said, bamfing around the briefing room and peering over Kitty's shoulder.

Kitty didn't look up from the computer screen. "You can get me another Diet Coke," she said absently. "That would be really great."

He returned in a matter of moments. "You should really get some rest," he said, setting down the drink. She looked exhausted, he thought, her hair carelessly scraped back in a ponytail, her eyes smudged with fatigue. In the blue glow of the monitor, her skin seemed nearly as pale as Rogue's, the smattering of freckles across her nose standing out in sharp relief.

"I'm fine," she said automatically. She reached for the can and cracked it open in a practiced gesture, barely interrupting her typing. "But you can keep me company," she added, throwing him a quick smile.

He returned it gratefully and settled into a nearby chair. "What are you working on?"

She didn't answer right away, intent on the information scrolling across the screen. "Looking for Sabretooth's bank accounts."

He nearly shot out of the seat. "Are you kidding me? That's insanely dangerous! And illegal!"

She rolled her eyes, and he decided to take a different tack. "Kitty, have you seen the way that dude dresses? What makes you think he has money?"

"Well, he's not working for free. And there's no way he's spending it on clothes, so I bet he's got zillions stashed away somewhere."

"And we're doing this _why_?"

"Because Remy said to follow the money." She stopped and turned to Kurt, explaining patiently, "I've been tracing the account for almost two months – he's moved the money between banks, so it's been a little harder to track." She dimpled then, flashed him a smile. "But I'm not the only one looking for him. That helps."

"This is a bad idea, Katzchen. You'll get in trouble."

She shrugged. "Only if I get caught. Besides, it's for a good cause."

He couldn't argue with that, and settled back in the chair to watch her work.

An hour went by, then another. Occasionally, she sent Kurt to fetch more snacks, and he bamfed to his room for magazines to look at. Still, his forehead was resting against the table when Kitty whispered, "Gotcha."

He startled awake. "What? What did you find?"

"Breadcrumbs," she said softly, eyes wide.

"I don't understand." He propped his chin in his hand and tried to shake off the remnants of sleep.

She pushed the chair away from the terminal, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness there. "Go get Scott and Jean," she ordered.

"Kitty, it's three in the morning," he pointed out, yawning widely.

She shot him a withering glance. "I _know_. That's why you're not getting the Professor."

Kurt grumbled and bamfed away.

Ten minutes later, all four were gathered around the monitor. Scott rubbed his forehead ruefully. "I don't want to know how you found this, do I?"

She shook her head and pulled up a second window. "This is Dane's bank account," she said, pointing, "and this is Sabretooth's."

"Wait," Scott said. "Kitty, these are numbered accounts."

She nodded, pleased with herself. "Yep. Both of them are from banks in the Cayman Islands."

Kurt frowned. "Rogue's in the Bahamas?"

Jean spoke. "I doubt it. People open offshore accounts to hide money or evade taxes, but they don't have to live there. Corporations do it all the time to avoid paying federal tax."

Kurt sighed, eyes bleary. "Man, I'd want to live there. Sunny all the time. Coconuts. Sounds like heaven."

Kitty elbowed him. "Focus, fuzzball. All of the deposits to those accounts come from the same five companies." She gestured to another screen. "These five."

Scott cut in. "Kitty, the names of the account holders are kept secret."

She shrugged. "It's not my fault their encryption software sucks."

Scott rolled his eyes heavenward.

Jean scanned the sheet. "All of these companies have New York branches. Can you look them up?"

Kitty obeyed, blinked at the results. "Two post office boxes, a liquor store, a vacant lot, and…the Statue of Liberty?"

"They're all fake," Scott said grimly. "Dummy corporations. Look at the board of directors for each one. They're the same names, over and over again. Arnold Bocklin. Michael Arnolds. Michael Windsor. Nathan Michaels. Nathan Milbury."

Kurt's features darkened as his shoulders slumped. "They're not real? We still don't know where she is?"

"Hold on," Kitty said. She moved back to the computer. "Look," she said triumphantly, pointing to the window displaying Sabretooth's account.

Jean traced a finger down the column of numbers. "The fake accounts are still paying him – he must still be working for whoever wanted Rogue."

"Yeah, but don't look at the deposits," Kitty insisted. "Look at the _withdrawls_."

"He pulls out ten thousand a few times a week. So?" Kurt asked.

"I can trace where he's withdrawing the money." Kitty said. "We can follow him…"

"Do it!" Kurt demanded.

Kitty settled back in her seat, flexing her fingers. "Scott, if I give you the coordinates, can you plot them?"

He nodded and sat at another workstation, pulled up a map on the main, wall-mounted display.

A short while later, North America was dotted with red lights blinking in angry unison, and Jean gasped softly. "More than half the withdrawls were made in New York!"

"Or close enough to drive," Scott added.

Kurt stared at the pulsating image, the implication sinking in. "He's still here. Rogue's still here."

Kitty turned to Jean, eyes shining with hope. "That has to help, right? I mean, if we know Rogue's still in the area, doesn't that help Cerebro find her?"

"I wish it did," Jean said regretfully. "But for whatever reason, Cerebro still can't locate Sabretooth. We think that whatever is blocking him is also blocking Rogue."

"I thought you said it was Rogue's collar that kept her hidden. Sabretooth wouldn't wear a collar. No way," Kurt insisted.

"No, but he might be using something portable, like Magneto's helmet. At this point, it seems more likely that there's some sort of blocking field over the location where they're holding Rogue," Jean said.

Kurt scowled. "Why? How do you know?"

Scott and Jean exchanged glances. "Because," she said gently, "if they're experimenting on Rogue, they'd need to take the collar off. She's no good to them if her powers are permanently inactive. But if they could create a force field that hid their neural signatures without suppressing them…"

Kitty interrupted. "Wouldn't that take a ton of electricity, though? A 24-7 force field?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah. And the bigger the facility, the more power they'd need."

Before Kitty could ask another question, Jean rested a hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "This _does_ help, Kitty. You should be really proud of yourself. Tomorrow morning –" she looked at her watch, corrected herself. "_This_ morning, a little later, we'll tell the professor. We'll reconfigure Cerebro and narrow down the search, I promise."

Kitty nodded absently. "Sounds great," she said.

Scott walked to the door. "You two should both try to get a little sleep," he said as he ushered Jean out.

Kurt gave him a thumbs up, but kept his eyes on Kitty, who was too lost in thought to hear Scott's words.

"Electricity," she mused, looking up at the blinking map.

* * *

It had taken Remy less than a week to map out the squeaky spots in the mansion's floors. An old, ingrained habit, like his need to know all the exits. Knowing how to move silently – and knowing how to track everyone else's noise – was both point of pride and survival skill. He and Henri had tracked each other as children, part lesson and part game. Only rarely had he beaten Jean-Luc. And strangely enough, never Mattie. She'd never told him how she did it, but he had never snuck up on her, and never managed to pilfer a treat from the kitchen without being caught.

He paced the mansion, remembering older, creakier boards under his feet, the scent of jasmine and the river fresher in his mind than the lemon oil and floor wax of the Institute. It was quieter here, which never ceased to surprise him. He always expected a house full of kids to be raucous and nerve-jangling, even at three in the morning. Instead, there was only the muffled hum of the house settling in – the furnace cycling off and on, the occasional creak of the foundation, the late November wind outside. Moonlight filtered weakly through the many-paned windows, and he trailed a finger along picture frames as he drifted silently through the downstairs halls.

The phone in his pocket vibrated, a harsh buzz in the carpeted hush of the hallway, and Remy flipped it open.

"Yeah?"

"I got nothin', _mon frere_." It was the same response Henri had given for weeks now, but his voice belied no impatience – only apology.

Remy sighed, began another silent circle around the house. Slow, measured steps, each foot carefully placed. "You sure it ain't Belle?" he pressed. He crossed the kitchen and dug in the refrigerator for a beer.

Henri was firm. "Told you, if Belle did it, she'd be braggin'. Girl ain' never been one t' hide her light under a bushel. An' she wouldn't bother t' make it look like a grab, _hein_?"

"Yeah." He pulled out the bottle, began searching through drawers for an opener.

Henri cleared his throat awkwardly. "How you doin'? I don' much care, but Mercy's naggin' all de time 'bout how her poor Remy mus' be hurtin."

He pried the cap off, began tossing it in the air. "Tell Mercy she worries too much."

"You're okay, den?"

"Fine." He charged the cap and flipped it, watching the small metal disk explode mid-air.

Henri snorted. "You think I'm gonna buy that? Hell, Remy, you better find her. I gotta meet de _fille_ finally got under le Diable's skin."

"Noble as always, Henri," he said, mouth twisting into a wry smile.

"One of us should be. Listen, Rem." Henri paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was grave. "Somet'in's goin' on down here."

He froze in mid-swig, set the bottle down carefully. "Somet'in' like what?"

"Not sure yet. Belle ain't behind y'Rogue goin' missin – I'm sure o'dat. But she's up to somethin'. Been sweet as pie to Mercy and Mattie. Smiled at me the other day like I was the canary and she was the cat. She's makin' plans, I can tell."

"Could be a lotta things," Remy protested half-heartedly. He picked the bottle up again and continued his rounds. "Guild business. Gearin' up for a strike. Shoe sale. Who the fuck knows why Belle smiles, Henri? Mebbe she found a boyfriend." That, he figured, was too much to hope for.

"She had lunch with Jean-Luc at Brennan's two days ago. A_ long_ lunch."

He stopped short. "_Merde_."

Henri was silent.

"What's he say 'bout it?" he asked, letting himself noiselessly into the library.

"Didn't ask. Figured it was better to wait an' see. But the man's actin' like a damn squirrel, he's twitchin' so much, jus' like he gets before a big job. Dat leash you on? Got a feelin' it's 'bout to get a whole lot shorter."

Remy began to curse, a steady stream of profanity pouring out while Henri waited patiently. Finally, he cut in. "Ain't nothing we weren't expectin', Remy."

He sighed, taking solace in the unexpected 'we'. "Yeah. But I can't think about it right now."

"Can't put it off f'ever, neither. Ain't room enough on the planet to run from y'destiny."

He scowled. "It ain't my destiny."

"Jean-Luc thinks it is." And that, they both knew, was enough. Still, when Henri spoke again, he was placating. "Find y'girl, Rem. Do what you gotta do t'get her safe, then come home and settle dis. Ain't any other way out, far as I can tell."

"Never wanted any of this," he said morosely. "Not a damn bit. Never asked for it, either."

"I know."

He stared out at the garden. The last few blooms were gone; only the sharp silhouettes of the branches and shrubs were visible now. Rogue had stood there, the day before she was taken, and he had put her off, stopped her from trying to name what had grown between them. Regret struck him in the chest like a physical blow. "Y'think Jean-Luc would've taken me in if he'd known it'd turn out like this?"

Henri considered. "Prob'ly._ Pere_ believes in fate, Remy. You know how he gets."

Stubborn, Remy thought. Jean-Luc got stubborn, and blind, and even more manipulative, which never really made sense, as far as Remy could see. If something was meant to be, there wasn't any need to help it along – especially not the way his father did. "Yeah. I know."

"Mighta changed his mind if he knew how ugly you were gonna grow up t'be, though."

Remy snorted, grateful for the tension-breaker. "You kiddin' me? Right now, he's prayin' your kids get Mercy's looks. Be a sad day for the LeBeaus if they favor you. He prob'ly figured I was the only way to improve the bloodline."

"Must not have looked real close," Henri returned easily.

The floor above Remy creaked, and he glanced up. Logan, he guessed from the heavy tread. Wanting to avoid a confrontation, he headed swiftly toward the back stairs. "Gotta go," he said. "Love to Mercy. Let me know if you hear anything 'bout…anything."

"_Oui. A bientot."_

* * *

"I take it you've recovered from last week's incident," Essex said. "You seem to be feeling better."

She tugged at the restraints, noting uneasily that the adamantium bands were thicker today, and more numerous – there were additional cuffs across her biceps, her thighs, her waist and knees. "Ah'd feel a lot better if you'd let me go."

"There is a certain pleasure to be found in gracefully acquiescing to your destiny. Perhaps you should try that," he suggested, beginning the usual preparations.

She matched his pleasant tone. "Perhaps you should try shoving that clipboard up your ass," she said. "Sideways."

He raised an eyebrow. "Such language," he tsked. "Hardly what I'd expect to hear from one of Xavier's protégés."

"You said it yourself," she shot back. "Ah was his pawn, not his protégé."

Rogue didn't miss the flash of triumph in his expression as he turned away from her and made certain to hide her own. In the week since the attack in her cell, Essex had left her alone – no tests, no absorptions. She assumed he had wanted to underscore her isolation, make her feel it more keenly. Instead, she had worked on integrating as many of the personalities as she could. Without the professor's support, it was slow, difficult going, but desperation had her pushing as hard as she could.

A few moments later, the door to the lab opened and a tech wheeled in a gurney carrying a girl who looked to be a few years older than Rogue. She was strapped down with bands similar to Rogue's – heavy adamantium cuffs immobilizing her completely. As Rogue watched, the tech fastened a final strip of metal over the girl's forehead, preventing her from looking at Rogue, and a moment later, she felt a similar piece of metal press firmly against her skull. She slanted a glance toward the other girl, whose eyes were dark with fear and anger.

It began as it always did, with a few last-minute adjustments to the wires monitoring both subjects, murmured conferences between Essex and his assistants, and then the whir of the machinery as Rogue's bare hand was stretched toward the other mutant.

Each time, Rogue used the last few minutes before contact to ground herself, to brace against the onslaught of a new personality. If she could begin to make a place in her mind for the intruder, the absorption seemed less painful, the integration more fluid.

And so when they finally touched, skin to skin, she believed she was prepared for the jumbled rush of images and memories that flashed through her like a flood.

_She had entered the lobby with a faint prickling at the nape of her neck, knowing that something wasn't right, completely confident that she could handle whatever that something was. They needed a research assistant for the summer; she was top in her class at MIT. If anything, she was overqualified. Maybe that was the cause of the off feeling – she wasn't going to get the job. She kicked up the cool, professional smile a notch as the receptionist showed her an empty conference room. She might be overqualified, but she was underfunded, and the money this assistantship would bring would put a hefty dent in her graduate school bills. Doctoral degrees didn't come cheap, much to her and her parents' chagrin._

_Idly, she trailed a finger over the scale model of a satellite, one of several tastefully displayed on pedestals around the room. Milbury Aeronautics, she decided, would be a nice fit, and an excellent stepping stone. A newcomer, practically unknown in the competitive field of aerospace engineering, the firm was still small enough that even as a mere graduate student, she could make a big impact. _

_Carol liked making an impact._

_She heard the dull whine of a generator, and then the prickling vanished, replaced by an odd, hollow feeling in her bones. A door opened and a tall, broad man in a lab coat entered. "Miss Danvers," he said, extending a hand. "I'm so pleased you've arrived."_

_Vaguely disoriented, she took his hand and he held hers firmly, almost painfully, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time. She gripped back with a strength that would have had most men gasping, her face reflecting her surprise when he seemed unaffected. Alarm had her attempting to withdraw her hand, subtly at first, then with a jerking move that, if her powers had been functioning properly, should have thrown the stranger across the room. Instead, he kept his hand on hers, an amused glint in his eye._

"_I'm Nathaniel Essex," he said smoothly. "We'll be working together for the next little while."_

Rogue jerked against the restraints as the memories continued to pour into her. Faintly, she heard monitors beeping, and Essex's brusque commands to the staff.

_She was chopping vegetables for a salad, enjoying her first summer home from college, when she heard the car door outside. Instantly, the base of her spine tingled, her hands began to itch, and she lost control of the chef's knife in her hand. The blade glanced painlessly off her thumb, and the corner of her mouth lifted. Sometimes, she thought invulnerability was even better for small things than big ones. _

_She looked at the clock – too early for her father to be home, and so she poked her head into the dining room. A black sedan sat in front of the house, two Air Force officers in dress blue uniforms next to it, looking grim. The prickling in her hands spread through her entire body._

"_Mom?" she called through the back door, still watching the officers' progress up the front walk._

"_I'm out back! I'll be there in a minute!" Marie Danvers called from the garden._

_The doorbell rang._

"_Someone's here," Carol said, too softly for her mother to hear. "I'll get it."_

_Mechanically, carefully, she set the knife down. Silly, she knew, not to insist her mother come in. But she needed a few more seconds – her mother_ deserved _a few more seconds – before the world shattered._

_She opened the door. "Can I help you?"_

"_Good afternoon. May I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Danvers?"_

_She gripped the doorframe, studied the men. The one who had spoken was young and obviously uncomfortable. The older man, silent, wore a shining silver cross pinned to the front of his uniform._

"_I'm their daughter," she said, angling her body to block the doorway._

"_I'm sorry, miss. I need to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Danvers."_

"_It's Steven," she said. She was surprised at how even her voice sounded, how calm. "You're here because Steven's…"_

_The chaplain regarded her sympathetically._

"_I'm his sister," she said flatly. "Tell me."_

_The back door banging shut made her wince, and she turned as if she could hide the men from her mother's sight._

"_Carol, sweetie, did you need something?" Marie entered the living room, nearly as blond and fresh-faced as her daughter. "I've got that flat of tomatoes in. I think that new heirloom…" she trailed off, color draining from her face._

"_No," she whispered._

_Carol moved to her mother, ignoring the officers. "Mom, let's sit down."_

_Marie jerked away, staring at the men. "No," she repeated, shaking her head and starting to sway._

_Delicately, Carol steered her mother to the couch, eased her into the flowered cushions._

_The officers looked at each other, then back at the doorframe that had splintered where Carol had gripped it. The younger one cleared his throat, straightened his jacket, and stepped toward Marie. "Mrs. Danvers?"_

_Marie closed her eyes and let out a small moan._

"_Mrs. Danvers, I'm Lieutenant Murray. Ma'am, on behalf of the secretary of Defense, I regret to inform you that your son, Steven…"_

_Invulnerability, Carol realized, as the officer's voice droned on, was pretty useless for the big things after all._

Rogue turned pale, sweat beading across her forehead. Her breath rasped in her throat.

_She skidded to a halt near the swings at Williams Park, nearly ran into Michael._

"_Do you think they saw us?" Only her second high school party, she thought, and the cops came before she had even finished her beer. _

"_No way," he said, "We were at the back of the house. Besides, I wasn't going to let Steven's little sister get arrested."_

_She rolled her eyes. "Of course not." Steven, of course, was the real reason she had been invited. Everyone missed Steven, off at the Air Force Academy. Handsome, popular, the star of the basketball team, everyone loved him and by extension, Carol, even if she was only a freshman. Captain of the freshman cheerleading squad, she reminded herself, but still a freshman._

_For Michael Rossi to have even remembered her name was enough to make her a little woozy – that and the beer, which she had hardly touched. She stared up at him, overwhelmed._

"_Thanks," she said as the silence grew awkward. "My parents would have killed me. They think I'm at Kelsey's house."_

_He smiled. "No problem. I'd be kicked off the team if they caught me there."_

_He took a step closer to her. "Here," he said softly. "You've got a leaf caught…" he trailed off, brushed his hand along her hair, dipped his head down as he tilted her face up._

"_A—a leaf?" she asked. She didn't think she could blame all of her breathlessness on their escape. Without realizing it, her eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed hers lightly, and his arm slid around her waist._

_Her first kiss, she realized in the back of her mind. It was perfect. Soft and gentle and warm, and she stood on tiptoe to make up the difference in their heights. Joy and relief and surprise bubbled up inside her, made her feel like she was floating._

_Floating…_

_Michael's mouth was perfectly level with hers, one hand curving snugly around her waist, the other still cupping her face. She flexed her feet, felt nothing but air, and looked at the ground out of the corner of her eyes, not wanting to stop the kiss. The grass was a good six inches below her feet._

_She squeaked and dropped like a stone._

Rogue started convulsing as the beeping sounds in the background came faster and faster.

"_Steven," she asked, "How far away are the stars?"_

"_Far." He popped a s'more in his mouth, smirked at her over the campfire their father had built._

"_How far?" Carol repeated, undeterred. It was a special treat, this "camping trip" in the back yard. Her mother had promised that she could stay in the tent all night, if she wanted. She wasn't scared at all, she reminded herself._

_He spoke around a mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow. "Jeez, Carol. Far. Millions of miles."_

"_Millions?" Her mouth made a perfect O of astonishment. "That's so many! It can't be that many!"_

_He gave her a superior glance, his ten years to her five making him seem far older. "Look it up if you don't believe me."_

_She ignored the taunt – she'd tried to read the encyclopedias before, but the words were too big for her, and Steven knew it. "I wonder what they're like."_

"_Hot. They're like big balls of fire." When she stared at him, he shrugged. "We studied it in school."_

_She sighed and flopped back on her sleeping bag. "I'd like to see one someday."_

_Steven nodded, threaded another marshmallow on his stick. "I'm going to," he said nonchalantly. _

"_Really?"_

"_I'm gonna be an astronaut. I did a report on it. I'm gonna fly the space shuttle," he said, then gave her the lopsided grin that always got him out of trouble with their mother. "I'll bring you back a picture, short stuff."_

"_I want to go too, Steven. Can I come with?"_

_He snorted and checked his marshmallow. Carol's eyes started to fill, and he softened. "Sure. We'll go together."_

_She tucked her feet into the sleeping bag, stared up at the sky, and tried to imagine flying there with her brother. "You promise?" she persisted. Sometimes Steven said things just to get her off his back, she knew._

_He sighed. "I promise. Go to sleep, okay? Dad's gonna be mad if he hears we're still up."_

"_Okeydokey." Carol snuggled down and drifted off, dreaming of what the stars looked like up close._

The monitor was shrieking. Rogue's eyes rolled back in her head as her body strainedupwards. The metal bands began to creak and bend.

_Someone was crooning in the darkness, the minor melody comforting. _

"_Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars_

_I want to know what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars._

_In other words, please be true,_

_In other words, I love you."_

She screamed as both lullaby and contact faded and the room went black.

* * *

Up next – Rogue adjusts, Kitty gets caught snooping, and Belle isn't shopping for shoes. 


	28. Sea Change

Yes, yes, a new penname, for reasons too mundane to detail. And really, who cares! There's a new chapter (finally)! As always, a huge thanks to Katt for the bouncing and the beta, and to Tash for the gentle reminders. Thanks also to all of my wonderful reviewers, who are patient and kind beyond belief.

To recap: Hank thinks Michael Milbury is responsible for Rogue's abduction – but Milbury doesn't exist. Kitty's hacking revealed that Rogue is somewhere near New York, and that Sabretooth and Dane were paid by dummy corporations. Henri warned Remy that trouble is brewing in New Orleans. Rogue absorbed Carol Danvers, experiencing Carol's life in reverse. This chapter picks up right where that one left off.

* * *

Finally, it was quiet – no monitors, no screams, no bodies slamming against metal gurneys. Essex studied the readout of Rogue's vitals, nodded with evident satisfaction. 

"She's stabilized," he said to a waiting technician. "Once I've finished, transport her back to her quarters."

The tech nodded, warily eyeing the girl on the bed.

Essex leaned over her. "Rogue?"

She lay motionless, skin a sallow grey. Her eyes flickered back and forth beneath closed lids. Her lower lip was swollen and bloody from where she had bitten it, and he dabbed at it with a square of gauze. "Rogue, wake up."

She didn't move, and he gazed at her consideringly. "Carol?"

She jerked once against the restraints, then fell still again. He drew another blood sample from her limp arm. "You did very well," he said, as if she were awake. "Even better than I anticipated. Now, my dear, simply rest."

He made a notation on the chart, spoke to the still-waiting technician. "Twelve hours, and there's no indication that the DNA is reverting to its original form. I want blood draws every six hours until further notice. We'll cancel any other absorptions for the foreseeable future. Unless there's a change in her condition, don't interrupt me."

The tech nodded at Essex's retreating back, then turned to Rogue. "You know," he muttered as he pushed the gurney down the white-tiled hallway that led to her cell, "the other chick got off easy compared to you."

Rogue didn't reply.

* * *

When she woke, the world had tilted and doubled. Her vision was hazed, and even her own body felt blurry, as if she couldn't quite tell where her skin ended and empty space began. A bottle of water sat on the chair next to her and she reached for it, missed by a mile, and watched with a sort of bemused detachment as it toppled off the chair and spun across the floor 

Her eyes drifted shut again, and as the jumble of voices and images assaulted her, she clung to the memory of a library, warm and rich. She remembered a library, she was almost certain, and she could nearly feel herself sitting curled in a leather chair.

_A girl entered, graceful and confident, long blond hair shimmering around her. "What happened?"_

_She blinked, sat up a little straighter in the chair. "Ah don't know."_

_The other girl's eyes narrowed. "Where are we? I don't recognize this place." _

"_It's the library," she said, glancing at the fireplace, the walnut shelves filled with books. "But Ah'm not really here…you're_ definitely_ not really here. At least, Ah don't think so."_

"_Who are they?" the girl said, pointing at the windows._

_Indistinct figures pressed against French doors. Once in a while, she thought she recognized someone through the squares of glass – a flash of blue skin, a hand cupping a flame, a pair of reddish eyes that ducked away._

"_Shades," she said without thinking._

_The other girl stepped closer to the doors, traced a finger along the mullions. "They want to come in."_

"_Ah know. It's a bad idea." Some things were clear, she realized. Some things she knew as long as she didn't think too hard. But none of it had any meaning, any context. She knew in her bones that letting the shades in was a terrible idea, but she didn't know why. _

_The girl studied her. "Who are you?"_

_She concentrated, nearly had it, and gave up. "Ah don't know. Nobody. Who are you?"_

"_Carol. What do you mean you don't know?"_

"_You're not supposed to be in here," she said vaguely. "You should go."_

_Carol sat down in the chair facing her. "Go where?" She shook her head. "I don't think so." _

"_You don't understand," she said, not quite certain herself. "You can't stay. It doesn't work like this."_

"_Like what?" Carol's brows drew together, her face darkening._

"_Those…things…out there. You're supposed to be with them."_

"_Well, I'm not."_

"_But you should be," she insisted._

"_But I'm _not_."_

_For reasons she didn't fully get, she reached out a hand. "Take it," she prodded, when Carol hesitated. _

_With a wary look, Carol's fingers touched hers, then grasped firmly. A spark flashed between them, then vanished, and they looked at each other. _

"_Nothin'," she said wonderingly. Carol tugged hard on her hand, but she stayed seated with no effort._

"_Well, that's new," the blond girl said dryly, and they stared at each other. Carol let go first. "What do you remember?"_

"'_Bout me? Or you?"_

"_You remember things about me?"_

_She started to answer, stopped, started again. "It's all jumbled. Parts are you, parts are me. Ah just don't know which parts go where."_

_Carol stared. "Figure it out."_

"_What do you remember?"_

_She shuddered. "I went to an interview, and this guy showed up. And then…my powers were gone. He kept drawing blood." She scowled. "I _hate _needles. Do you know how long it's been since I had a shot?" _

"_Yeah."_

_Carol paused, momentarily confused. "They brought me into a room…a lab. They strapped me down, and I couldn't get away – even with my powers back. And then…" she trailed off. "You were there. Don't you remember?"_

"_Ah remember the lab," she said slowly. "But Ah don't know if it's your memory or mine."_

"_It's yours," Carol said, annoyed. "I saw you."_

"_I saw…" she thought back. A blond girl, wide-eyed with terror, strapped to a table with thick silvery bands. And another girl, darker-haired, with white streaks framing her face, her expression equal parts apology and anguish, with a matching set of bands across her body. "I saw us both. And then…"_

"_You touched me," Carol finished. "And it was like…someone shook me loose, like my brain was jumbled up, and then it just went black." Her head snapped up. "And then I was here. In your library. You did this!" _

_She knew instantly that Carol was right, and she started guiltily. "He made me! Ah didn't mean to!"_

"_You're a mutant! What the hell do you do to people? What did you do to me?"_

_The figures outside the French doors increased their pounding._

"_What did you do to me?" Carol repeated._

"_Ah don't know! Ah'm sorry!"_

"_Do you teleport people? Do you put them in some sort of alternate reality? Time travel?"_

_She tried to grab hold of the words that kept sliding past her. "I borrow them."_

"_What the hell does that mean?"_

"_Their powers. Their memories. Their…lives."_

"_Well, give them back!"_

_She bent her head, clenched her fists. "Ah can't."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Ah can't control it." That part, at least, was crystal clear. "Ah can't make them come back. They do," she added hastily. "They always do. They always have, anyway." At least, she thought they did._

_Carol looked at her dubiously. "They'd better. I like my life."_

_She nodded. "Ah know."_

"_You said this was different."_

_She rubbed a hand over her eyes. "You shouldn't be here."_

"_Well, I'm not going out there," she said, slanting a glass at the French doors, which were rattling in their frames. Carol turned her head and examined the paneled oak door she had first come in._

"_Not that one," she said quickly. _

"_Why not?" She moved to the door, reached out._

_The girl stepped between Carol and the door, swiftly blocking her way. Slowly, carefully, she pried Carol's fingers off the brass and crystal doorknob. "It's not…it's not for you," she said, her face white and strained. "Ah can't let you go out there. Ah'm sorry."_

_Carol stared at her, eyes narrowing. "Maybe you can shove the others around," she said, flipping a hand towards the shades as she moved back to the chair. "But I'm not them. You brought me here, and either you get me out, or I'll do it myself, even if it means taking you down." The grimness in her voice left no doubt that she would do exactly that. _

"_Look," said the girl, "Ah ain't exactly thrilled you're here either.. But Ah don't think Ah can help you."_

"_Who can?"_

_A figure glided up to the French doors, pressing an open hand against the glass, an oasis of calm and reserve amidst the roiling figures surrounding him. "Ah need to go home," she said suddenly, staring at the seated figure outside. Can you help me with that?"_

_Before Carol could answer, she winced and rubbed at her arm, startled when her fingertips came away red. Even as she turned to look at Carol, the room faded and fell away._

Her eyes snapped open as she watched the technician exit her cell, a small vial of blood in his hand.

* * *

Two-thirty in the morning, and the buzz of his phone startled him from a dreamless sleep. He felt around on the nightstand, knocking over the lamp and an empty glass before finally flipping the phone open, his eyes still closed. 

"Dis better be good, Henri."

"Now, Remy. Ain't it always good to hear from y'pere?"

His eyes flew open, and he struggled to sit up. "Bonsoir, Pere. _Quoi ca dit_?"

"Heard you lost somethin'." Jean-Luc's voice was overly solicitous. "You should keep a better eye on y'belongin's."

He reached for the fallen lamp, set it upright again with a thump. "Ain't a somet'in, an' she don' belong t'me," he said tightly.

"Even so. Taught you better, son." He could hear his father taking a drink of something on the other end, a swallow, a slight hiss, the solid clink of glass meeting wood. Jean-Luc sounded almost smug, which meant that something had gone well, which meant he was drinking marc. The idea that his father had something to celebrate made Remy nervous, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Best to be on your feet when you had a run-in with Jean-Luc LeBeau.

"You callin' to make small talk, Pere? Cause I'm in the middle of somethin'."

"Sleepin'," Jean-Luc hmph'd. "You're getting sloppy, boy. No self-respectin' thief gets caught sleepin' in the wee small hours."

"Never said I was self-respectin'." He dragged on a sweatshirt and boxers, ran a hand through his hair. "Why you callin'?"

"You want y'girl back?"

Remy froze for a moment, then willed himself to relax. He reached for a pencil and charged it until it glowed. "Depends on de girl," he said eventually, bringing down the charge just enough that the wood cooled again to a dull yellow, but the graphite inside stayed bright red.

Jean-Luc chuckled and waited.

"You know where she is? You in on it?" He didn't think so – Antoine's inquiries and Kitty's research both suggested an operation too large to be handled and hidden by his father's guild. Still, he'd be a fool not to ask.

"Hell, boy! What kind of question is dat?"

"Should be an easy one."

Jean-Luc sighed. "Don' know where I went wrong wit you, Remy. Blame Mattie, I guess. Woman always was too soft on you."

"Where's Rogue?" he said roughly, staring at himself in the mirror.

"Don't know, an' I don' much care. She ain't f'you, son."

He turned away from his reflection, wandered to the window. "Den why you botherin' me?"

Jean-Luc sighed again in exaggerated patience. "What's the first rule of thievin', Remy?"

The response was automatic. "Don' get caught."

"What's the second?"

"Ain' no such t'ing as priceless." He could see his father's plan coming into focus, still a bit blurry, but inexorable and mercenary nevertheless. He leaned against the wall and stared out the window, readying himself.

"Damn straight. Everything has a price, son, even your girl. You willin' to pay?" Jean-Luc was pleased, no doubt, but his voice held the barest hint of triumph. It was one of his father's most obvious tells, Remy thought uneasily.

"Depends," he said, already knowing the answer. "Who's sellin'?"

"Belladonna. She wants to talk."

No surprise, really, but it didn't tell him which side his father was on. Remy had long ago stopped assuming Jean-Luc stood with him. "Dis a warnin' or an order, Pere?"

His father chuckled. "It's an option, Remy. You got a lotta others?"

* * *

"Good morning, you two," said the professor, voice colored with amusement. 

Kitty jerked awake with a squeak, promptly phasing through her chair and landing in a heap on the floor. Kurt continued to snore, sprawled back in the chair, his mouth hanging open ever-so-slightly. Kitty shoved at him as she clambered out from under the conference table and he

blinked sleepily. The sight of the Professor waiting expectantly in the doorway, with a frowning Scott just behind him had Kurt straightening and smoothing his fur.

"_Guten tag_." He gave a small wave.

The two men entered the room, Xavier taking his usual position at the head of the table. "I trust whatever project has kept you up so late was a success."

Before either Kurt or Kitty could respond, Scott spoke. "What are you doing in here?"

"Research," Kurt said. Next to him, Kitty shuffled through the paper covering the table, pulling out various sheets and stacking them in a pile.

"You mean you're breaking into something again," Scott said grimly.

"What, exactly, are you researching?" asked the Professor.

Kitty rubbed at her cheek, trying to erase the creases left by sleeping on her keyboard. "Dexter Genetics." She slid a sheaf of papers across the table. "That's who took Rogue."

Scott took an involuntary step forward, and Xavier seemed to sit even straighter as his hands tightened on the armrests of his wheelchair. He looked closely at Kitty, careful to keep his expression neutral. "Are you certain?"

Kurt and Kitty nodded in unison. "Totally," Kitty said.

"How'd you figure it out?" Scott asked, as he and the Professor scanned the papers Kitty had given them.

"You said the force field blocking Rogue would use a lot of electricity," said Kurt, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. "So we looked at the power company's records."

Xavier's head snapped up. "Are you telling me, children, that you illegally gained access to the nation's power grid?"

"Kitty," Scott ground out. "Do you have any idea how many laws you've broken?"

Kurt protested. "Hey, I helped!"

Kitty sat back and crossed her arms. "I don't care," she said fiercely. "At least I'm doing something. Rogue's been gone for almost two months, and we're just sitting here. We go to school, we train, we run recruiting missions. It's crazy! We should be doing more. We said we would find her, Professor. I _promised_ her we would." Her voice shook, and Kurt took her hand.

"We didn't go into the actual grid," Kurt added. "We just looked at the billing records for the electric companies in the area."

"Oh, I feel so much better," Scott snapped. "Maybe that'll reduce your sentence to ten years instead of twenty." He turned to Kitty. "Just because we're not telling you everything we've been doing doesn't mean we aren't looking for Rogue."

Xavier spoke gently. "Kitty, Kurt, I can assure you that we are using every available means to find Rogue, even if we haven't kept the team fully informed of our discoveries. Certainly, your frustration is understandable, but Scott's point is valid: your research, however well-meaning, however helpful, is illegal. It could have serious repercussions."

"So?" Kurt said. "It doesn't matter, if it means Rogue comes home. I'd rather be in jail than leave her out there." He glared at Scott. "You'd do the same thing for Alex."

Before Scott could answer, Xavier cut in. "No one is questioning your devotion to your sister, Kurt. But any more law-breaking is out of the question. You're endangering yourselves and the Institute. It could hamper our ability to search for Rogue through other means. I cannot allow you to continue."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Scott scanned the report. "How'd you figure out it was Dexter? There are millions of accounts here."

"Process of elimination," said Kitty. "We only looked at commercial accounts."

"Nobody's keeping Rogue stashed in their basement," Kurt added.

Kitty rolled her eyes, continued. "We filtered out any account that existed before Rogue got her powers. Dane only started coming after her a few months ago, but we didn't know how long he'd been planning it, so…"

"You gave yourself a little wiggle room. Smart," Scott said. "Still, that's a lot of accounts."

"You said the force-field would have to run 24-7," Kurt said, "so we only looked at above-average hourly usage."

"Most businesses would have downtime," mused Xavier. "Their usage would be greater during the day, then drop off in the evening. I would think there would be a number of manufacturers that operated continuously, however."

"There were," Kitty said. "So we ran down each one that was left."

Scott whistled. "No wonder you fell asleep down here. What'd you find out?"

"Dexter Genetics is one of the largest accounts in the tri-state area," Kitty said. "They're using about a gazillion watts a day. But their corporate headquarters is an office condo in Schenectady, and they don't own any other property."

"So where's all the power going?" asked Scott.

"I don't know. We didn't look at the actual power grid, like Kurt said, just the billing departments."

"Ah," said the Professor. "And without the usage reports, we can't determine the location."

"There's more," Kurt said. "Look at the board of directors for Dexter.

"The bank accounts," Scott said flatly. "They're the same names as the ones paying Sabretooth. Son of a bitch."

The professor said nothing, studying the papers carefully. Finally, he smiled at Kurt and Kitty. "Legalities aside, this is very impressive work, you two."

Kurt shrugged, exhaustion and despair making him slump. "They're all fakes."

"They're establishing a pattern," Xavier pointed out. "And eventually, that pattern will lead us to Rogue."

"Professor," Kitty said, "If I could just crack open the power grid, we'd be able to…"

"No," he said, cutting her off. "Your work together has been admirable, but the two of you may not pursue this further. I'm sorry, but I must forbid it. There are other ways to get the information."

Kitty started to protest, but stopped, flopping back into her seat, arms crossed and lips pressed tightly together.

Scott walked around the table, rested a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Go take a nap, okay? You could use it." He turned to Kurt. "Both of you. Good work."

Slowly, Kitty and Kurt both stood, Kitty gathering up her laptop and scattered papers.

"We'll certainly keep you informed about what we find out," Xavier said.

Kitty said nothing, and Kurt merely nodded, then steered Kitty out of the room, his hand at the small of her back.

After the door had shut none-too-gently behind them, Scott turned back to the Professor. "She's right," he said. "Going into the power grid is the only way we can follow the trail back to Rogue. She can do it, too."

"It's direct," Xavier countered. "And while I don't doubt that Kitty could eventually accomplish it, it's also illegal. I won't risk her future, or the Institute's, if there's another way."

"But there's _not_. Everything we've turned up is a dead end. Aliases and red herrings and dummy corporations. It's all some sort of elaborate smokescreen that we can't get through, and it's a member of our team on the other side. It's one of us." He stopped, scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Kurt's right – if it was Alex, I'd do whatever I had to. What right do we have to stop him?"

The professor sighed. "Because it's a measure of last resort, and we haven't reached it yet."

"You really think there's another way to get the location?"

Xavier smiled wearily. "One of the truly appalling things about government bureaucracies is their susceptibility to bribes," he said dryly. "I'm going back to my office – alone. Please alert the rest of the staff about this latest development."

_

* * *

She was in the library again, Carol running her fingers over the shelves of books. "Get me out of here," she snapped without preamble. _

_Rogue sighed and gestured to the shadows massed outside. "Be my guest. Too crowded in here anyway."_

_Carol glared. "That's not out."_

"_Sure it is." Things were clearer this time, she thought. She knew who she was, more or less, and how both she and Carol had ended up in the library. The problem was, she hadn't the slightest idea how to fix things._

"_No," she said, dropping into the seat opposite Rogue's. "That's just where you stick people when you don't want to deal with them." She leaned in closer. "You're going to deal with me. You owe me that."_

"_It wasn't my fault! It was Essex!"_

"_Your power. Your fault. Now get me out of here!"_

_Rogue shifted, curled protectively in the chair. "It's not that easy."_

_Carol looked over at the shades pressing against the windows. "They're angry." Her gaze swung back to Rogue. "So am I. You're making it worse, you know, keeping them out there. You're making it harder on yourself."_

"_You don't understand how it works," Rogue said shortly. "If Ah didn't keep them locked up…"_

"_They wouldn't push so hard to get out." At Rogue's startled look, Carol shrugged. "What? It's not like I have a lot to do except go through your memories."_

"_Those are private," Rogue snapped. _

"_So were mine," Carol said, her voice honeyed. Then her tone turned brisk and businesslike. "You can't just keep shoving them back – it only makes them more potent." She examined Rogue critically, tapping her fingers lightly on the arm of the chair. "You need a balance. Give them a little room, and everyone will breathe easier."_

"_Ah can't just let them roam around my head, Danvers. It doesn't matter how much room they have, Ah still have to integrate 'em or they'll take over."_

_Carol shrugged. "Integrate them, then."_

_Rogue huffed and turned away, studying the creases in the leather chair. "You think you have it all figured out, but you don't. You don't have any idea."_

"_I think I have a pretty good idea, actually. You keep compressing them, and it makes them stronger, and you weaker, because it takes so much effort. But if you could find some kind of happy medium, they'd be easier to integrate, and you'd be able to focus."_

"_The last time they all got loose…it nearly killed me." She couldn't explain how it had felt – all of those foreign powers, coursing unchecked through her body, desperate to escape, all of the foreign minds battling for control, and her energy divided between the two.  
_

"_But it didn't." Carol said reasonably, and Rogue realized that the other woman knew exactly what had happened to her. "And this time, you don't have to worry about their powers."_

_Rogue stared at her blankly, and Carol reached forward, touching the silver band around her throat. "No powers," she said with a grim smile._

"_No powers," murmured Rogue._

* * *

The sound of pebbles bouncing along the path to the beach had Remy glancing up warily, but it was only Kitty, bundled against the cold in a puffy jacket and absurdly striped knitted hat. He nodded as she walked up to him, and offered her one of the stones in his hand. She tried to skip it across the choppy waves, but it sank immediately. She sighed, and he slanted another look at her. 

"Somet'in on y'mind?"

She stared out at the grey-blue water and dug the toe of her sneaker into the rocky sand, and he waited patiently. Finally, she turned to him.

"What would you do to find Rogue? I mean, would you do something, like, illegal?"

He snorted. "P'tite, I do_ that_ cause it's a Tuesday. Ain' really a stretch for me, _hein_?"

To her credit, she looked only mildly taken aback. "Oh. Well, would you…I don't know…would you do something that was hard? That would cost you?"

"Everything costs somethin'," he murmured.

She tilted her head quizzically, and he shrugged. She watched as he picked up another stone and charged it, then skipped it along the choppy surface of the ocean. It bounced along the water a few times before it exploded, the fragments sizzling.

Kitty wandered to a nearby boulder and sat as he sent more rocks skittering over the sea. "She's been gone such a long time," she said suddenly.

He kept his eyes on the water, nodded once. "Two months."

"That's longer than you were here with her."

He made a noise of agreement, but didn't stop charging and throwing the stones.

She traced a fissure in the boulder, the stone damp and chill against her fingertips. "Do you think she's okay?"

"Hope so. I think she's alive. I think she's a fighter. Long as she's fighting, gotta figure she's okay."

"You miss her," Kitty said quietly, idly phasing her fingers through the rock.

"So do you," he shot back.

"Of course I do. Rogue's my best friend." Her gaze sharpened. "What is she to you?"

He turned to her then, met her eyes squarely. "No offense, Kitty-cat, but when I have that conversation? Ain't gonna be wit you."

She grinned then, and he couldn't help smiling back. "Too cold to stay out here mopin'," he said, and tugged her off the boulder. "Time to go back."

She nodded and started up the path to the mansion ahead of him.

"So," he called, "You gonna tell me 'bout this 'illegal thing' you been considerin'? It have sometin' t'do wit your meetin' de Professor and Scotty-boy this mornin'?"

"You heard about that?" she tossed back over her shoulder, waiting for him to reach the top of the trail.

"You ain' de only one round here likes t'talk," he said. "So, you goin' felony or misdemeanor?"

She frowned at him as they headed across the wide expanse of lawn to the mansion. "If I tell you about it, does it make you an accessory?"

"Prob'ly," he said, ducking his head against the wind. "Not real worried about it, though."

Kitty tucked her hands deeper into her pockets. "I had this lead," she began, but a shout from the back steps of the mansion cut her off.

"Half-pint! Get in here!" Logan wasn't waiting, though, and he strode across the grounds toward her, face dark with anger. Remy ignored his progress, concentrating instead on the black-clad figure standing in the kitchen doorframe.

As he stormed up, Logan shot Remy a murderous glare. "You put her up to this?"

"Don' even know what she did," he replied, then nodded in the direction of the house. "Friend of yours?"

"Not exactly." Logan rounded on Kitty. "_You_. Chuck told you no. What the hell were you thinking?"

She jutted out her chin, a gesture so like Rogue's that Remy nearly lost his footing. "I was thinking that it might be nice to, oh, I don't know,bring Rogue home."

"_He told you no!_"

"Do you always do exactly what the Professor says?" she asked sweetly, stepping inside. "Besides, he said that Kurt and I couldn't work on this _together_. He didn't say anything about what I did on my own."

Remy grinned. "I see a bright future f'you, p'tite. Girl's got a point," he said to Logan.

They had reached the kitchen, and the other man glanced briefly at Remy, then focused in on Kitty with his one eye.

"You're Mr. Logan's friend," she stammered.

He grimaced. "Not exactly. You're Katherine Pryde. Nick Fury," he said, extending his hand.

Kitty took it, trying not to stare at the eyepatch. "Are you going to arrest me?" she asked, her voice suddenly smaller.

"I'm going to tell you to knock it the fuck off."

She blanched and stepped back. "It was only the one time…"

Out of the side of his mouth, Remy asked Logan, "What'd she do?"

Fury answered grimly. "Shadowcat here decided to hack into the Eastern power grid."

Remy whistled appreciatively. "Definitely a felony, p'tite." He shrugged. "Go big or stay home, I s'pose."

"But I didn't get through!" she protested.

Fury folded his arms and leaned against the granite countertop. "Not yet. And if you ask the military, it's not a felony, it's an act of domestic terrorism."

Kitty sat down at the table with a thump. "I'm a terrorist?" she squeaked.

"You will be if you manage to crack that grid."

"It wouldn't just be you, half-pint. They'd come after the Institute. No charges. No trial. No phone calls home – just prison, for as long as they want to keep us there." Logan leaned down so that they were eye to eye. "Do you get it now? Why he told you to leave it?"

She nodded, eyes filling. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just wanted to help."

Fury studied her for a minute, his expression softening momentarily. "The group I work for can pull a lot of strings, Katherine. But if the military labels the X-Men a terrorist group, there's not a damn thing I could do to help you."

He ducked his head, took a sip of coffee, and continued. "You've done some good work on your own," he said. "Getting those bank records, running them down."

Kitty flushed. "You heard about that?"

He rolled his eyes. "Kiddo, I hear about it when one of you runs a yellow light. You want to poke around foreign banks, that's fine. But if the places you're looking into are on U.S. soil, put down the goddamn mouse and go paint your nails, okay?"

Kitty nodded, lower lip still trembling.

"You done now?" demanded Logan.

Fury pushed away from the counter. "With her, yeah. Figured you and I could have a chat."

Logan nodded once and headed out. Fury followed, pausing in the doorway. "You ever need a job, kiddo, look me up."

"Like hell she will," they heard Logan snarl as they left.

Kitty looked at Remy, exhaled shakily.

"Look at de bright side," he offered, pouring them each a cup of coffee.

She took a sip, grimaced and added a generous dose of sugar to her mug. "I'm not in jail?"

"_I'm_ not an accessory."

She gave a wobbly smile, pushed the coffee away. "Happy to help."

Through the window above the sink, they could see Logan and Fury stalking towards the woods. "So," he said, tugging off her hat and tossing it at her. "Sounds like you've been havin' all kinds o'fun without me. Tell me 'bout it."

* * *

"Don't recruit my kids," Logan snapped when they were away from the mansion. 

"Her choice," Fury reminded him, and held out a cigar. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"Took you long enough," Logan grunted.

"Funny thing," Fury said dryly. "We've been a little busy lately, trying to figure out how to shut down Apocalypse. You remember him, right?"

"We get her back, maybe she can help with that."

Fury hunched his shoulders against the wind. "Hard to sell that at SHIELD right now, Logan. Rogue started this whole mess -- her name doesn't exactly bring out the warm fuzzies around there."

Logan chewed the cigar, kept his voice easy. "She packs a lotta power for a little thing. Seems like you'd want to keep an eye on her."

Fury barked out a laugh. "Oh, is that why you're shaking down every contact you ever had? You're worried about what she can do?"

"I don't give a hot damn about her powers." He stopped short, stared at the brown grass underfoot. "I'm worried about her, Nick."

He rasied an eyebrow, then nodded once. "I don't think this'll help much…" he said warningly.

"Tell me."

"It's classified."

"_Tell me_."

"Your Rogue was one of the mutants brought to Area 51 after Trask let the Sentinals loose."

"I remember." Remembered Rogue trapped in the stasis field, the look of stark terror on her face as she was transported past his cell to a lab. Remembered the way she went still and distant whenever someone brought it up.

"Trask liked her – thought she was an interesting case."

Logan began to growl softly.

"He ran a lot of tests on her while she was there. There was a huge file on her."

"And?"

"And the file's been hacked."

"What do you mean?"

"All the data on Rogue – all the test results, Trask's theories, his plans for her...someone broke into the system and helped themselves. None of the other files were touched – only hers."

"When?"

"A few days after you and your girl scout troop came home. Someone wanted her pretty bad to pull that off, Logan. Someone was hunting her."

* * *

"_Why are you helpin' me?" Rogue asked, settling back into the chair again, resting her cheek against the cool leather._

_Carol spun an antique globe in its stand. "I told you – I want out of here. Helping you seems like the best way to accomplish that." She met Rogue's eyes, her voice cool. "Don't worry. It's nothing personal."_

_Rogue nodded, unease spreading over her like a blush. "Guess we should get movin' on this, then."_

_Logan was first. She knew instinctively that he'd take the most energy. She stared at the chair in front of her, concentrated as hard as she could on the scent of cigar smoke and sweat and crisp autumn air, the feeling of a gloved hand cuffing the back of her head lightly, the shine of adamantium against perfect skin, and the sound of his voice, the low rumble of his voice._

_He solidified in the chair across from hers, and Carol straightened, walked over behind Rogue wordlessly._

"_What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped, shifted and stretched in the chair, growing more substantial. "Jesus, I hate being locked up. You know that."_

"_Ah had to," she replied. "Ah can't just let you run around."_

"_Then why'd you spring me?" He glanced at the silver tea service on a nearby sideboard. "We gonna play tea party?"_

_Rogue shook her head. "Ah need your hand," she said quietly._

"_It's too much for you."_

_Carol stepped forward. "She's got help."_

"_You don't belong here," he said coldly._

"_I noticed," she replied, and her eyes flicked over him. "So you're her Logan."_

"_Wolverine to you," he clarified. "And not hers."_

_Carol's mouth curved. "You're here, aren't you?"_

_He snarled in reply, and Rogue leaned in. "Ah know there are things…you want to keep. But Ah need your help, Logan. Ah need to think like you. Ah need to feel like you."_

_He leaned back in the chair, folded his arms. "That's the last thing you need."_

_Carol spoke. "You know he won't keep her alive indefinitely. If this is about protecting her, you might want to consider that."_

_Rogue whirled around to glare at her, but Carol continued, her voice even and almost pleasant. "Of course, if this is about protecting you and all your monsters under the bed…" she shrugged. "Well, once she's dead, you won't have to worry about them coming out."_

_He raised an eyebrow. "Ruthless little bitch, aren't you?"_

"_It's not like I've got a whole lot to lose at this point," she retorted._

"_Enough!" snapped Rogue. She turned imploring eyes to the figure in the chair. He wasn't really Logan, she reminded herself, just his memories made visible. "Logan…it ain't really your choice. Ah'll do it either way. Ah just wanted…" she trailed off. "Ah just wanted to square it with you. It'll be easier, Ah think."_

"_Nothing easy about it," he replied. "It'll change things."_

"_Ah know. Adapt or die, right?" She gave a wan smile and reached out a hand. "Please, Logan."_

_He gave a short, curt nod. "Don't' say I didn't warn you, kid." And he laced his fingers tightly with hers, and the storm broke within her._

* * *

"The changes are small, but pronounced," Essex commented. "And yet she hasn't regained consciousness for a sustained period?" 

"No, sir." The tech said. "The abnormal phases don't seem to follow a schedule, but the EKG readings for each are nearly identical. She's yet to fully wake up, either. It's like she's been sleeping for a week."

"And the fluctuations are dreams," Essex mused. "Very well. Inform me of any further changes." He glanced at the chart once more, then strode out.

_

* * *

She sank back in the chair, nearly boneless with exhaustion. Carol eased herself over to another chair and put her head between her knees. _

"_We're not really here," Rogue pointed out. "You'd think we wouldn't feel so crappy."_

"_Try telling my legs that," Carol grumbled, sitting up again and pushing her hair back. "Your friends have some serious issues."_

"_They aren't all my friends," Rogue said, thinking back to the stench of the concentration camps and the creak of bending metal. "Made some progress, though."_

"_We'll have to move soon."_

"_Ah know. There won't be time to finish it." The crowd outside the French doors had thinned, individual bodies visible instead of a seething mass._

"_I can't believe you live with a valley girl. How have you two not killed each other?"_

"_She's nice when you get used to her."_

_Carol shrugged. "What about the guy with the creepy eyes? We should work on him."_

_  
"They aren't creepy. And Ah'm not integrating him." She forced herself to look away from the doors._

"_He's sneaky, and smart. He plays dirty. He could help us."_

_She shook her head. "You don't know that. You don't have any idea what we'll get from him."_

"_You do, though. You lived with the guy."_

"_That doesn't mean Ah knew him. We can do this without Remy."_

_Carol snorted. "Are you crazy? We need all the help we can get."_

"_Remy…has secrets."  
_

"_And we have a rather pressing need to get the hell out of here. I don't care how squeamish you are about poking around in your boyfriend's head, okay? Time to grow up. If he's got something in there that can help us, we take it." _

_Rogue was quiet. Finally she turned and faced the French doors, studying the figures on the other side. She nodded. "We take it."

* * *

_

Up next: Belle and Remy negotiate. Rogue, Carol, and Remy have a chat. Rogue fights back.


	29. When The Devil Drives

So, sometime…um…last year, I updated this story, and then my life got in the way. And now I'm back, very contrite, and hping that you all will forgive me for the unconscionable delay. Thanks to Katt, of course, for the beta, and my reviewers, who gently nudged me to get off my ass and update. This _is _a short one, but the next chapter should follow more rapidly. I hope.

To recap: Rogue, still being held by Essex, was forced to absorb Carol Danvers, who has now taken up residence in her mind. Carol and Rogue decide to integrate more of the personalities in order to escape the lab. Rogue balks at integrating Remy, but eventually agrees to try it. At the mansion, an increasingly desperate Remy receives a phone call from his father, suggesting Belladonna may be willing to help find Rogue. Kitty and Kurt used the power company's records to determine that Dexter Genetics is behind Rogue's abduction – and in doing so, caused Nick Fury to deliver a warning.

And now, on with the show.

* * *

Remy's eyes adjusted quickly to the dim interior of the restaurant. Fei Tu's was quiet, despite the numerous people tucked into booths and behind curtained rooms. The murmuring voices flowed around him, but no one thread of conversation could be heard over another, making eavesdropping difficult. He nodded at the boy behind the counter and tilted his head towards a small alcove in the back. The boy raised an eyebrow expectantly and Remy grinned, slapping down several bills on the glossy black countertop at the same time he nudged down his sunglasses, giving the boy a better view of his eyes. 

"Right this way, Mr. LeBeau," the boy said, and ushered him back. "Everything is as you requested."

"Merci," he replied, settling into the one empty chair and surveying the laptop set up in front of him. A nearby platter held food and a teapot, a single sturdy cup next to it. Making a minute adjustment to the webcam attached to the top, he added, "No interruptions, _hein_?"

The boy's expression didn't change, but he was clearly insulted. "Of course."

Remy bent to unzip the bag he had brought with him, then straightened. "There's probably somebody waitin' outside," he said offhandedly. "Black motorcycle, I'm guessin', or a red Jeep. Think you could run out an' give 'em a message?"

"My father would be displeased if I left while we had guests. I could send one of the kitchen staff out," he suggested.

He shook his head. He'd spotted the tail fifteen miles out of Bayville, had shrugged if off as expected. Now it was time to get to work, though, and an audience was the last thing he needed. "You. I'll double what I paid already."

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

Remy smiled. "I'll pay _you_ double, Tommy. Not your father."

"Perhaps I could step out for just a moment," Tommy said tonelessly.

"Thought so. Ask him if he wants an order of mu shu, or just some gyoza."

"Excuse me?"

Remy chuckled. "And give him this." He pulled out a single card from the deck that appeared suddenly in his hand, and gave it, along with another stack of bills, to the boy.

"Mu shu or gyoza," Tommy repeated dubiously.

"You a prince 'mong men," Remy said.

Tommy nodded and left, and Remy pecked at the keyboard, launching the videoconferencing program. When it was finally up running, he was unsurprised to see an empty chair on the other end. He checked his watch – he was exactly on time, but he'd planned for a wait nevertheless. Leaning back so that the chair balanced on two legs, he propped his feet on the table and dug into the bowl of chow fun noodles that were cooling next to the computer.

Ten minutes later, he was scooping the last of the noodles into his mouth when a hulking figure crossed the camera's lens and thumped into the seat.

"LeBeau."

He nodded recognition. "Gris-Gris. Ain't here to chat with you."

"And if I'm all you get?"

"Then we're done. Have a nice day." He reached to switch off the camera, but paused at the other man's muttered curse.

"_Pardonne_? Didn't quite catch that."

"She'll be here. Your turn to wait, though."

Remy shrugged and took another bite of noodles. Gris-Gris swore again and walked away.

Forty-five minutes later, he was still waiting, absently twirling a pair of chopsticks in one hand and eating a vegetable-stuffed bun with the other. A flash of movement at the edge of the screen caught his eye again. He dropped all four chair legs back to the floor, set down his food, and kept his eyes on the monitor.

The woman who seated herself in front of the opposite camera was jaw-droppingly gorgeous, so polished and sleekly confident that Remy jerked at the sight of her.

"Remy," she purred, shaking a mass of golden curls back from her face. "I'm so sorry you had to wait. I hope it wasn't too long."

_The hell you're sorry_, he thought. She wanted him nervous and eager, neither of which had suited him since he was about thirteen. "Hadn't noticed," he said, smiling inwardly when her eyes narrowed.

"You're lookin' nice, Belle." That, at least, was the truth. She looked exactly and nothing like he remembered – cerulean blue eyes in a heart-shaped face, a full mouth he was more than familiar with – but there was something hard and practiced about her beauty now. When they were kids, she had been recklessly beautiful, shining out full-force without any effort at all. Her eyes had flashed with mischief and stubbornness and her mouth had moved with promise or delight, or, more often than not, petulance. Now, all of that vibrancy had transformed into a brittle, breathtaking mask. He wondered how much was due to him, and how much was a result of her family. "All grown up, hmn?"

Her lips, a deep rose, curved in an artful smile. "All grown up," she confirmed. "Are you?"

He saw the trap, sidestepped it as neatly as he could. "I'm older," he said easily.

She took a sip of the sweet tea at her elbow. "Yes. One would think three and a half years is enough time for a boy to grow up, don't you agree?"

He made a noncommittal noise, took another sip of tea. "Hear you've been spending time wit' Jean-Luc."

She shrugged elegantly. "Your father and I are both the leaders of our Guilds. It makes sense that we stay in contact."

"I'm sorry about y' _pere_." Marius Boudreaux was a killer and a scoundrel, and somehow made Jean-Luc seem like father of the year in comparison. But he was Belladonna's father, and his death had thrust her into a role that she shouldn't have had to assume so early.

"The flowers were lovely," she said automatically. "Thank you."

"And you're runnin' things now," he said, trying to sound approving. "It suits you, Belle."

"It's what I was raised for," she said, meeting his eyes. "It would suit you, too."

He didn't bother to protest – they had both grown up mindful of their duties. The difference was that Belle not just accepted it, but welcomed it, while he had done everything he could to escape. "Also heard you might know somethin' bout a friend of mine."

She tilted her head to the side, her words sweetly poisonous. "Is that what you're calling them now? Your _friends_?" She pretended to consider this for a moment. "Well, I suppose you're not paying them for their services. Especially not this one, hmn? I'm not rightly sure what you see in a girl who can't touch."

Under the table, he charged the high-sided porcelain spoon and then cooled it in the leftover soup, trying to quell his anger. "Her name is Rogue."

Belle waved her hand impatiently. "I know her name, Remy. I probably I know more about her than you do."

"Doubt that," he muttered, annoyed at the implication. "Y'know who has her?"

"To be honest," Belle said, studying her gleaming nails, "I don't care. It hasn't been worth my while to find out. I am running a business here, you know."

He nodded. "An'you want me to make it worth y' while."

Her eyes glittered with triumph. An expression he'd seen before, and one that never failed to make him just the slightest bit uneasy.

"How much?" he demanded.

"Oh," she said with studied casualness. "Won't come cheap, I promise."

He wouldn't have expected anything less, he thought grimly. He had set up this meeting knowing Belle would play it exactly this way -- she could have revenge and control all at once. Still, he feigned ignorance. "Xavier will pay what you ask. _Homme's_ richer than Croesus."

She scoffed. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"The price, Belle."

She mimicked his tone perfectly. "You, Remy."

"Shit." He looked away. Anticipating her demand didn't make it any easier to swallow. "Y'really think I'm that soft?"

"I think you're hell-bent on saving this girl, for reasons I cannot_ begin_ to understand."

That, he didn't doubt. "Not at the cost of my own skin."

Belle studied him. "Fine, then. It was nice to see you, Remy." She stood to leave, and even though he knew it was a bluff – even though every instinct he had was screaming that he call her on it and let her walk out, he couldn't muster up the nerve.

"Belle." It came out more pleading than he intended.

She paused at the edge of the screen, not looking back at the camera, a slight tilt of the head the only indication she was listening.

"There's gotta be a deal we can make, right? A compromise."

She turned back, scornful. "Best I can tell, you're not really in a position to make deals."

"She's jus' a kid," he said, remembering that the last time he and Belle had seen each other, they were kids, too. "I'm just trying to bring her home."

"Well, then," she said bitterly, "Maybe you're gainin' a bit of appreciation for my position."

His shoulders sagged. "Tell me how you'd find her."

She waited for a moment, eyes glacial.

"Tell me how you'd find her, _please_." The woman was going to make this as painful as she could, and he wasn't even certain he blamed her.

"The same as we find anybody. You hire us."

"Don't want you to kill her," he said warningly, straightening in the chair.

She rolled her eyes. "You are dumber than mud when a woman gets involved," she said impatiently. "Do you think most of the people we're hired to deal with want to be found? Of course not."

"And you find them anyway."

She shrugged delicately. "It's a living."

"F'you," he said darkly. "Won't work. She ain't hiding, she's been taken. Ain't a trace of her on the planet."

Belle sighed. "And I told you she doesn't matter. Victor Creed's the one who took her, he's the one layin' a trail. Lord, Remy. You'd think I'd never explained any of this to you before."

"We've looked for Creed. Jus' keep missing him." He tried to ignore how easily he was referring to the rest of the X-Men and himself as 'we'.

"Well, we won't. The man's bad for business. Poaches on our territory at times, and I won't have that."

"So you'll help?" he pressed.

"If you come home."

"I can't…"

She threw up her hands in frustration, the only sign so far that he'd gotten under that brittle façade. "Be sensible, Remy! For just once in your damn life, think with your head instead of your dick. It ain't that you can't come home, or you can't be with me, or you can't live with yourself. You just won't, because you don't want to." Her voice cracked for a moment, but when she spoke again, it was sharp and clear and brutal. "The only thing you _can't _do is keep running away. Jean-Luc isn't going to put up with this for much longer. If you're not careful, he'll decide you're not worth it and hand the whole ball of wax over to Henri."

"Henri's better suited to it anyway."

"Yes, but considerin' that I'm supposed to marry whichever one of you two idiots is next in line, and Henri's already married…" she trailed off and tapped a finger on the tabletop, seemingly thoughtful. "Of course, if he were a widower…"

He felt a chill steal over him. "You so much as look at Mercy funny, and the next man you see will be your own _pere, _roastin' right 'longside you in Hell."

She blinked innocently. "I can't control the prophecy. You're the one set on beatin' fate."

"Can't beat somethin' that don' exist."

She straightened in her chair. "I'm tired of this. That's my offer. We'll get you the location of Creed and the girl. You'll have a week to get her back. But after that, you come home."

"That's it? Jus' come home?"

Belle looked almost insulted. "Of course not. We'll get married eventually, but you need to win me back first. You humiliated me in front of my family and friends. Business associates. If I took you back right away, I'd lose too much face. "

"And this is how you want it? Me comin' home because you forced my hand?"

"No," she said softly. "You took what I wanted and smashed it to bits. This is me makin' do."

He sat without speaking for a long moment, suddenly tired. He considered just shutting the computer and walking away, turning his back on the Guild, his family, Rogue -- but the idea of it only made him more exhausted. Walking away wasn't going to make him free – he'd been trying for more than three years to break the ties to his past, and he'd yet to succeed. Maybe, he considered, Mercy had a point. If he came home, he could maneuver Belle into some kind of truce and convince Jean-Luc to hand over the reins to someone else. And if he agreed to Belle's offer, he could help Rogue in the process. He'd lost Gennie and Etienne, each time powerless to keep them safe. The chance that he could save Rogue – that he could do something genuinely good, for once – nearly made him dizzy.

"Tick-tock, Remy."

He looked up and met Belle's cool blue gaze. "Deal," he said. Even as he said it, the weight bore down on him full-force, his body suddenly leaden.

Her mouth tightened for a moment, in disappointment or surprise, he couldn't tell which – and she nodded once. "Deal. We'll be in touch." With that, she disconnected the call, and Remy was left staring at a black screen.

Slowly, carefully, he shut the laptop and levered himself up. As he slid open the door, Tommy materialized, a faint line between his eyebrows the only indicator of worry.

"Beer?" Remy said wearily. "I could use a beer."

"Certainly. About your earlier request," Tommy added, just as Remy looked up and caught sight of Ororo Monroe sitting at a table near the window.

"Aw, hell," he said. "And Maker's Mark. A double."

Tommy nodded and vanished as Remy made his way over to the table.

"Logan decided he wasn't hungry after all," she said serenely. "I opted to wait here for you."

"Swell," Remy said. Tommy reappeared with his drinks. "Just swell." He drank deeply, and Ororo studied him.

"You look…careworn," she said after a moment. "Did you not enjoy your meal?"

He flicked a glance toward her, finished the bourbon. She shivered slightly and adjusted the violet cashmere wrap around her shoulders, then poured herself a cup of tea.

"You don't like the cold?" he asked, drawing a line in the steam on the window pane.

"Not particularly, no." A smile played along the corners of her mouth.

"So why not fix it? Ain't that what you do?"

"Because it isn't broken," she replied. "Cold weather is an inconvenience, not a catastrophe. Using my powers unnecessarily is both disruptive and taxing. I prefer to use them only when I must."

"Seems a waste," he grumbled. "You could have summer year-round."

"I did, in Africa. I might not enjoy winter, but I do find it instructive."

"Instructive," he said flatly. "How's that?"

"Winter reveals structure," she said. "It shows us the essence of things, their true nature. I find that worth some discomfort, don't you?"

He looked at her suspiciously, but she just smiled and sipped her tea.

"It's a time of preparation, too," she said after a moment. "The earth is readying itself for spring. Life is beginning again, even though we may not see it. And things are preparing themselves to become what they are meant to."

"D'you believe in fate?" he asked suddenly. "In destiny?"

She spoke carefully. "I believe that there is an order to the universe. A pattern, for lack of a better word. And to live in harmony with that pattern is a good thing, something one should strive for." She paused and met his gaze squarely. "That does not mean that our lives are predestined. The path we choose for ourselves, the decisions we make…those choices belong to us alone. No matter what we are born to, it is our actions that bring us there, not the hand of fate."

He drained his beer. "Guessin' that's a no, then?"

She warmed her hands on the teacup. "The important thing is what you believe. Do you feel you are more than your birthright?"

"You seem real familiar with what that birthright is," he said pointedly.

"Is it so impossible for you to believe that the patterns of our lives have overlapped before?"

"Not impossible. Gotta wonder if you're sharin' with the rest o'de class, though."

"If I felt it would help to find Rogue, I would. But for now, your past is yours to guard or share as you see fit."

He whooshed out a breath of relief. "Merci. You kind of an unusual woman, Miz Munroe."

"I pride myself on it. If I may offer you a bit of advice, though?"

"_Mais sho_."

"Rogue, by her nature, is a difficult woman to keep secrets from. She has learned that even painful truths are easier to grapple with then deception. If your intentions toward her are even slightly honorable," she smiled knowingly, "you would do well to keep that in mind when she returns."

He tried to smile. "Good t'know."

* * *

"_Don't think of him as your boyfriend," Carol said._

"_He's not my boyfriend," she said for the thousandth time. _

"_You know, for somebody who dislikes lies, you're really attached to that one," she said, and then frowned. "Let's just do this. We're running out of time."_

_Rogue nodded, and sat in her usual chair, gripping the armrests despite herself. "Ready?"_

"_Past ready," Carol confirmed._

_Calling up a shade wasn't taxing, exactly, but it forced Rogue to concentrate, and so she centered herself, trying to remember Remy – the sharp line of his cheekbone, brown hair flopping into his eyes. His eyes, he thought, remembering that shifting deep red, dark iris gleaming, a look that sought out secrets but divulged none –_

_-- and then he was there before her, as solid as when they had stood in the garden. She curled her fingers into fists and pushed back in her chair to keep from crawling into his lap._

"_Well," he drawled, sprawling out in the chair and glancing around the library. "Ain' this cozy?"_

"_Remy," she breathed, leaning toward him despite herself._

_His gaze snapped to hers. "We ain't that cozy," he said flatly, and she flinched at the remove in his voice. "Gambit'll do."_

_His eyes slid to Carol. "You're new," he said, his eyes raking over her with frank appreciation. "How come you ain't out there wit' de rest of us, Legs? What makes you so special?"_

"_For starters, I'm dead," she said evenly. Rogue turned to her, startled at the admission. They both knew somehow that, outside of Rogue's mind, Carol no longer existed. And yet neither of them had said it before, wary of the effect on their fragile truce._

_Remy took it all in, nodded once. "'Spose that makes a difference." He looked at Rogue more closely. "Didn't think you had it in you, chere."_

"_It wasn't my choice," she said through gritted teeth._

"_Never is," he replied mockingly. "Ain' that de problem?"_

_She ducked her head for a moment as he continued. "Why you need me, then? You've already got company." His expression shifted to a leer. "'Less you wanted me to watch."_

_Carol merely rolled her eyes, but Rogue shook her head uncomprehendingly. "What's wrong with you?" she asked, hating the tears that were creeping into her voice. This wasn't the Remy she was used to. She had thought he would tease her, certainly, but there was nothing of the tender, genuine man she relied on. She felt like she was scrabbling for purchase again, just as she had when she'd fallen off the building fighting Dane. "Why are you bein' like this?"_

"_Like what?" he shot back. "Jus' bein' me."_

"_This isn't you," she said. "You're not mean. You're not cruel."_

_He leaned forward – not enough to touch, but enough that her nerves thrummed. "I ain't him," he said, his voice low and cold. "I ain't your Remy. I'm Gambit, an' I have been since you decided to pull a little B&E at the Acolytes' place."_

_She blinked, thought back to the previous spring. "Apocalypse," she murmured. Involuntarily, her fingers lifted to her lips._

_He nodded as she remembered. "Not sayin' you a bad kisser, chere, but your finish needs a little work."_

_She flushed. "And everything after that…you don't know…"_

_He smirked, sitting back. "Know we're on better terms these days."_

"_So you'll help?" Carol asked._

"_Didn't say that, Legs. I gotta tell you – don' much like the idea of the river rat just strollin' through my mind."_

"_But… I need your help," Rogue said desperately. _

"_You need a goddamn miracle, chere. I got all sorts o' things up m'sleeve, but that ain't one o'them."_

"_Remy, please."_

"_Gambit," he reminded her, clearly nettled. "And de answer's no. Haven't they taught you any sort of manners at that school? Y'shouldn't take things that don' belong t'you."_

_She stared at him for a moment. He really wasn't the Remy she knew, she realized, and as Carol cleared her throat meaningfully, she forced herself to look at him as she would a stranger. "Fine," she said eventually. "Don't help. Ah'll still do it."_

_He grinned. "You do have spunk, chere. I admire that in a fille."_

_She stood, moved toward him, and his grin disappeared. "He'll know," he said uneasily. "Minute you see each other, he'll know you did this. And he ain't gonna be none too pleased 'bout it."_

"_Probably not," she agreed. "But Ah'm not real pleased at the thought of dyin' here, either, so…Ah'll take my chances. You of all people should appreciate that," she said. And then, almost without thinking about, she reached out a hand to curve along his face and leaned down to press her lips against his, the very thing she'd dreamed of, but never in a nightmare like this.

* * *

_

Next time: What Rogue sees – and how she reacts.


	30. Disintegration

A/N: Normally, I try to reply to each review personally, but technical difficulties are making that impossible. Please know that I do appreciate them SO MUCH – knowing that people enjoy the story nudges me to keep working on it.

To recap: Rogue, still unconscious in Essex's lab, has decided to integrate Remy's psyche with Carol's help. Remy has made a deal with Belladonna – if she can find Rogue, he will return to New Orleans and resume their engagement.

* * *

She pressed her lips to Remy's, and even in her mind, his mouth was firm and warm against hers. She wanted to stop and savor him, to enjoy the strangely sweeet taste of tobacco and bourbon strangely sweet. Instead, though, the memories poured in, violent and sudden, like a dam breaking. _

* * *

He is six and alone in the world. Fagin finds him useful, a talent worth encouraging, but that's Remy's sole value. His take every night is easily three times that of the others in the group, and no one can ease a nervous tourist's wallet away with more finesse. He can maneuver through a crowd without jostling a body, can slice through a purse strap like he's brushing away cobwebs. Among the rest of Fagin's charges, his skills with cards and dice are admired, but his eyes keep him from running the scams in public – they draw too much attention. So while the other boys practice three-card monte and the short con, Remy learns things better suited to the dark – how to pick a lock, how to crack a safe, how to move without being seen _

* * *

"He's a Thief," Rogue said blankly. 

"So?" Carol gestured at Gambit, still sitting across from them in the library, frozen. "Keep going."

"You aren't listenin'. He's a _Thief._" She could hear the capitalization somehow, and couldn't quite grasp what it signified.

"He can be Oliver freaking Twist for all I care. Keep going," Carol repeated.

It fit, Rogue thought unhappily. She wanted to struggle against the notion, wanted to, at least for a moment, believe him incapable of it, but all she felt was a sort of weary recognition, hope leaching out of her like color from a photograph left too long in the sun. Remy was a Thief, and she had never known him at all.

Carol jabbed at her shoulder, impatient. "Angst later, okay?"

She swallowed, nodded, and entered the fray again.

_

* * *

He is eight, working the crowds during a jazz festival. He's lifted enough to meet his quota, and now he works for his own profit, for practice. For the rush. Sometimes, just for kicks, he takes a mark's wallet and pores over it, and tells himself a story about the life inside, then slips it back unobtrusively, exactly as it was before. He's just returned the billfold of a harried-looking mother of four, ignoring the pang he feels when he spots the wallet-sized family portrait, when he hears an angry shriek. He tracks the sound, sees that it's not coming from an overtired preschooler – a girl roughly his own age is sprawled on the ground. Three scruffy, skinny teenaged boys with mullets and Pink Floyd t-shirts are advancing on the girl, who clambers to a crouch, her school uniform dirty and torn, blond curls mussed. _

_Instinctively, he scans for a weapon and finds a tree branch nearby. He doesn't know if he can take all three, but he can make trouble enough that they reconsider going after the girl. Fagin, undoubtedly, would not approve. "You watch your own back," he had lectured them endlessly. "Everyone else is busy watchin' their own, so you're the only one who'll do a half-decent job of it."_

"_Leave her alone!" he shouts. His voice sounds thin and small, but it is enough to catch the attention of the toughs. Behind them, the little girl stares at him._

_Laughing now, two of the older boys come toward him, jeering. "Look at the big man," one of them mocks. "We saw her first."_

"_Ain't right," he says, hefting the tree branch. "She ain't done nothin' to you."_

"_None of your business," the taller boy sneers. "Get lost, little man."_

_The other teen, the one who has kept his attention on the girl the entire time, starts walking towards the girl menacingly. "Come on, sugar-pie. I bet Mommy and Daddy gave you plenty of money for an ice cream. Why don't you just hand it over?"_

_The little girl stays crouched, her eyes glittering with…anger? Remy cocks his head to the side for just a second – she looks more angry than fearful, but before he can think too much about it, the other two try to rush him. Without stopping to consider, he swings the branch across the chest of the first thug, his arms jolted by the impact. As the other teen comes after him, Remy brings the branch down on his head and then runs toward the leader._

_The boy turns to deflect Remy's blow, but halts midway and screams. He stares at his leg, and Remy's gaze follows his to the small dagger embedded in the other boy's calf. They are all speechless for a moment, transfixed by the blood rapidly spreading across his jeans._

_The little girl speaks first, as she puts her hands on her hips and glares at Remy. "You made me miss!" she accuses, but he can hear the quaver in her voice. Still, she tosses her hair back and stomps over to the whimpering teenager on the ground. "Buy your own ice cream," she says, and yanks the knife out of his leg, then kicks him in the stomach for good measure._

_She turns to scrutinize Remy, her eyes flicking over him with equal parts amusement and disdain. "What's your name?"_

"_Remy."_

"_Remy what?"_

"_Jus' Remy," he mutters. "Ain't got another. What's yours?"_

"_Belladonna Boudreaux," she says importantly, as if he should know that name. "Let's go get some ice cream."_

_He can't help but follow._

* * *

"Well," said Carol, "he certainly has a thing for rescuing damsels in distress, doesn't he? It explains a lot about you." 

Rogue ignored the obvious dig and shook her head. "That girl didn't need to be rescued. She's dangerous."

"He doesn't seem to mind, though."

"No," Rogue said, as dread unfurled slowly within her. "He doesn't mind at all."

_Funeral processions in New Orleans are a grand affair – celebrations with music and dancing, a revelry that spills over and absorbs strangers. They're fertile ground for a ten-year-old thief, and he sets his sights on a thin middle-aged man who's been mingling aimlessly, taken in by the colors and the noise, oblivious to the crowd that eddies around him. He's not a tourist, as far as Remy can tell – he's not gaping at the sights, just thoroughly enjoying them. In fact, he has a lean, canny look about him, and for a moment, Remy has second thoughts. "If it looks too good to be true, get out," is another of Fagin's rules, and it has always served Remy well. Still, the thick wallet that is peeking out of the man's leather vest is too tempting to resist, like a perfect, juicy peach just begging to be plucked._

_The actual grab is beautiful. Ironically, it's a police car that gives him his opening – it careens through an intersection, stopping the procession with a rippling, jostling effect. Remy stumbles against the mark, and as the man steadies him, Remy palms the wallet and tucks it up the sleeve of his sweatshirt, slipping away before the man registers that his vest is now significantly lighter._

_A few minutes later, Remy stops in a favorite alley, pulls out the wallet, and starts to whistle cheerfully in anticipation of the afternoon's take. The melody slows, though, as he realizes that the money is, in fact, fake. And the tune dies on his lips as the mark, along with several other men, appears in the mouth of the alley._

"_I was wonderin' where that got to," the man says, and advances toward him. _

"_Jus' found that," Remy protests, backing up. "Ain't no money in it," he adds. The fence along the back of the alley is just a few feet away, and he pretends to stumble over an empty milk crate, positioning himself for a mad scramble over the fence._

"_I know," the stranger says, and grins, not stopping his progress. "Never can be too careful. There's thieves everywhere nowadays." _

_The man reaches out – for him or the wallet, Remy's not sure – and he throws the wallet, a high arcing toss. _

_For just a moment, the man's concentration is broken and Remy uses that second to clamber over the boxes, bounding onto the dumpster. More men appear on the other side of the chain-link fence, and in that instant, Remy leaps for the nearby fire escape, swinging his body up and around, and landing catlike on the platform overhead. Without looking back, he begins to race up the rusting stairs. If he can make it to the top of the building, he knows, he can get back to Fagin and hide. The roofs of New Orleans are as familiar to him as the streets, and more beloved. No one can catch him there, no one can find him, and escape is always just a jump away._

"_Remy!"_

_The shout from below has him skidding to a stop four stories in the air. _

"_Ain't no call to run, boy! I ain't gonna hurt you. Jus' wanted t'see if you were as good as Fagin says."_

_Remy considers this for a second. "And?" he calls down eventually, still breathing hard._

"_You're better," he says. "Now come on down here."_

_Slowly, he descends the fire escape, trying desperately to steady his nerves. It was a setup, he realizes – the man had known he was there all along, and he shakes his head in disgust at his own folly._

_When he drops to the ground, lightly, the other man is waiting a few feet away from the dumpster. The rest of the men have spread out in a rough circle around them. Remy leaves one hand on the fire escape. "Fagin tol' you 'bout me?"_

"_That he did, Remy." The man extends his hand, and Remy takes it warily. "Jean-Luc Lebeau. Good to finally meet you, son. I been waitin' well nigh forever f'this."_

* * *

"I told you he'd be useful," Carol said. "Although, for your next boyfriend, try and pick someone who's not a career criminal, okay?" 

Sinking back in her chair, breathing hard, Rogue glared at Carol. Gradually, she began to sort out her own thoughts from the memories flooding her. "No. It ain't what he does. It's who he is. Thieving is…it's part of him, like his eyes, or my skin." Except, she realized, that he loved it, deep in his bones and his blood, loved the deception and the adrenaline and the challenge and the triumph. She hated her skin, lived every minute of her life acutely aware of how it shaped her every move. For Remy, grifting was as natural as walking, and she wondered if he even realized how often he did it.

"Great. So there's a gene for larceny? I'm not interested in his motives, Rogue, just his skills."

"I won't be able to jump like that," she pointed out. "I'll know what he knows, but I can't just…do what he does." Wouldn't even if she could, she thought, wouldn't lie as easy as she drew breath, wouldn't say things she didn't mean.

Carol's expression was steely. "It'll be enough."

_

* * *

He is seventeen. Belle is lying naked in her canopy bed – a sight he doesn't believe he'll ever tire of – and pouting, which is a sight he was tired of long ago. Nonchalantly, she stands and pulls on the arctic-blue silk robe that, moments ago, was pooled on the floor. She knots the belt and sits at her vanity, holding Remy's gaze in the mirror as she brushes out her hair. _

"_So Etienne's got a job. Don't see why you have to go with. Can't somebody else babysit?"_

_He forces back a sigh. They've gone round and round about this for weeks now, to little avail. Every conversation, every interlude, ends on the same note, and it's exhausting. At this point, he suspects Belle brings it up just to torture him. "Etienne asked f'me."_

_She shrugs, unimpressed, and idly braids a lock of hair. "You could say no." _

"_Wouldn't be right," he says. Etienne's first job, the one that will mark his entrance to the Guild, is ritual every Thief undergoes, a baptism of sorts. The fact that the boy has asked Remy to shepherd him through it -- not Henri or some other blood relation – touches him more deeply than he can say. "It's an honor, bein' asked. Ain't somethin' to take lightly."_

"_Neither am I." She flashes him a smile in the mirror, then turns to face him. "It's dangerous."_

_He can't tell if he's referring to Etienne's Tilling or herself, but she's right either way. An Assassin's daughter is not a sensible choice for a Thief's girlfriend, and sleeping with her in her family's home is even more foolhardy. But what he finds most unsettling about all of it – more than the thought of her father and brother finding them here, more than the knowledge that his own girlfriend kills as matter-of-factly as he steals – is Belle's surety about their future. Remy doesn't believe in fate. He believes in luck, and odds, and impulse. And yet everyone around him is convinced that the beautiful girl in front of him is his destiny._

_He doesn't quite know how to tell her that the thought of _anyone_ being his destiny makes something under his skin itch fiercely. _

"_It's jus' a quick job," he says, trying to placate her. "I'll be back before you know it."_

_She shakes her head impatiently. "Ain't how long you're gone, Remy. It's that you won't tell me more about it. Whatever you two are up to, it's important, and you not telling me about it is flat-out mean."_

_The trellis outside Belle's window is covered in clematis, and he breaks off a few blossoms. "It ain't mean. It's Guild business. Couldn't tell you if I wanted to."_

"_But you _don't_ want to," she says sadly. "That's the problem."_

_He offers her the flowers, the petals crimson and velvety in his palm. She takes them reluctantly and brings them to her face as he says, "The details don' matter, Belle. It's Etienne's job, not mine. An' once it's done, I'll come home and everything'll be jus' fine, hein? I promise. Like I never left."_

_Except that when he returns, it is with Etienne's body, not the take from the job. It is the brackish taste of the sea in his mouth, not the sweet effervescence of champagne. There is a hole in his family, in himself, and nothing will ever be the same again._

* * *

"He thinks it's his fault," Rogue whispered. "That boy dying…his cousin. He thinks it's his fault." She understood his guilt, knew the sour taste and gray haze that overlaid everything, and her heart contracted in sympathy. 

"Because it _was._"

Rogue shook her head. "It was an accident."

Carol's voice was icy. "And that makes it okay? The kid's still dead."

Rogue wondered if they were talking about Remy and Etienne any longer, and she changed the subject. "It's the same girl. From the park. I told you she was trouble."

"Trouble for you, maybe. He's pretty comfortable."

The image of Remy carelessly trailing his fingers down the other girl's bare back rose in front of her, and she shoved away the hurt, focused instead on diving back into the memories.

_

* * *

When Genevieve falls, she does so gracefully, rose silk fluttering around her like beautiful, useless wings. But her scream is raw and terrified, and even as he urges Henri down the stone stairs, urging his battered and dazed brother to hurry the fuck up, he is listening for the dull sound of her body – her beautiful body, every curve and freckle and scar familiar and exquisite territory for him – hitting on the cobblestones below. _

_When they burst onto the street, he starts to look for her, but Henri has regained his senses. "Allons-y, Rem," he pants, gesturing down the street. The sky is brighter than when he had arrived at Notre Dame, the peculiar bluish quality of the light giving way to bright sun that doesn't warm the earth at all. "Safe house is only a block or two."_

"_I gotta find Gennie," Remy snaps._

"_An' do what? You want to explain to the gendarmes how the girl you've been screwin' f'the last two months ended up splattered on the pavement? Let's go." He tugs at Remy's arm. "C'mon."_

_He shakes his brother off and tears off wordlessly around the side of the building. With an oath, Henri follows behind him._

_When he spots her, she is lying in a pool of crimson, white-blond hair already soaked, limbs akimbo and her neck at an unnatural angle, blue eyes staring and sightless. He stumbles to a halt ten paces away and throws up. He did this, he thinks. He put her there._

_Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he stands again and takes a step toward her, only to feel Henri hauling him back. Remy shoves at his brother, and Henri throws him against the wall of the cathedral, forearm across his throat. "You can't help her. An' we gotta go."_

_Suddenly weak, Remy struggles fruitlessly. "I can shut her damn eyes."_

"_People saw her, Rem. They're comin'." Outside the wall, shouts and sirens are approaching. They have a minute, perhaps ninety seconds, before they're discovered. "They'll take care of her."_

_Remy lurches toward the body again, and Henri slams him back against the wall. "You chose me, an' I'm grateful, but it won't make a bit o' difference if they catch us here. Girl'll still be dead, and we'll go down for it."_

"_Her name is Genevieve."_

"_Her name _was_ Genevieve. An' she was a thief, same as you, same as me, an' she knew the risks when she signed on. She wanted a nice safe life, she shoulda been workin' at a fuckin' boulangerie, not stealin' jewels."_

_Remy raps the back of his skull against the stone, guilt twisting tighter and tighter inside him like a vise. _

"_Listen to me," Henri says. "This was a job. An' it went south, an' we got nothin' to show for it but our lives, but that's somethin' right there. You want to beat y'self up 'bout this later, I won't stop you. But right now, we cut our losses, we get to the goddamn safe house, and we go home to our women. _

_Now, Remy. _Now._" Henri nods grimly, and after a moment, Remy nods back, and together, the LeBeau boys vault over the back wall of the cloister, leaving behind the girl who was Genevieve Darcenaux._

_Later, though, as their plane wings across the Atlantic towards the Gulf, he thinks that some part of him has been left behind too, shattered beyond repair and redemption on the stones of Notre Dame._

* * *

She couldn't take any more, Rogue thought as she pulled out of the memory, gasping. He didn't have any other skills she needed, didn't have any other tricks up his sleeve, and finishing the integration was just too much. 

He'd told her the Guild was just a job, and she'd known he was lying. Even so, she'd seen how it had damaged him, and that had been enough – confirmation that his past was as dark as hers, that he understood how loss and betrayal and grief could break you open and crush you to dust all at once. And because of that, she'd convinced herself that his past didn't matter. Now she realized her mistake. The Guild wasn't his past. It was his family, and his calling, and his destiny. Everything else was incidental. She shuddered at the memory of the dead French girl. He'd seduced her for a necklace, and had Sabretooth not intervened, he would have walked away without a second glance, back to New Orleans and his Guild. He'd do the same to her, Rogue knew, because that's where his real life was. She was just a detour.

"That girl," she whispered, cradling her head in her hands.

"I don't care," Carol said. She'd been silent while Rogue recovered, but now she was dismissive. "It doesn't matter."

"Are you crazy? Of course it matters. He lied. About _everything_."

"So what?" She flipped a hand towards Gambit, as if shooing a fly. "The only thing that matters is right now, and getting out, and staying alive. You saw him – he walked away from her because he had to, if he wanted to survive. Now it's your turn."

Rogue pressed her fingertips to her mouth, unable to reply.

"Don't be stupid," Carol snapped. "Finish this, and then we move."

She nodded mutely. The image of Gambit in front of her was translucent, and through him, she could see the shelves of books, the neatly-laid fire in the hearth, the chess board with a game in progress. All the familiar bits of her life at the mansion, elements of home, and the only way to get to them was through the last memory that Gambit was hoarding. She gripped the arms of the chair and leaned towards him.

_

* * *

Fifteen minutes after his engagement party starts, a few miles south of Tupelo, Mississippi, Remy's phone starts ringing. It plays "Tainted Love", and "The Joker", and Darth Vader's theme song, each of them repeatedly until Belle and Henri and even Jean-Luc have given up. Only when the phone begins to play "Brown-Eyed Girl" and the lights of Corinth are fading in the distance does he answer. _

"_Evenin', Mercy. How're you?"_

_His sister-in-law's voice is an octave higher than usual, her laugh strangled. "Oh, I'm just lovely, 'cept for the war breakin' out."_

_He ignores this. He doesn't care about a war, or Guild politics, or a prophecy repeated so often he no longer hears it. "Belle's okay?"_

"_Okay is not the word I'd use," she snaps. "The woman is, as we speak, planning to kill you as slowly an' painfully as she knows how – and she actually_ knows how,_ Remy. You forgotten that?"_

"_The thought crossed m'mind." _

"_Please tell me you are out on a job. A very lucrative job. An' your cut is goin' to buy something shiny for y'fiancee." She is almost pleading, and the guilt turns his stomach for a moment. He's left behind one hell of a mess, and Mercy, as always, is going to knock herself out to set it right. When he doesn't answer, she exhales slowly. "Oh, Rem," she says, her voice thick with disappointment. _

"_Had to." He doesn't trust himself to explain why, that marrying incandescent, intractable Belle is an impossibility. She deserves more, and he deserves…he doesn't quite know what he deserves, but it isn't this life._

_Mercy, for once, is quiet, and he finds the silence as he drives almost companionable. Finally, though, as he crosses the state line between Mississippi and Tennessee, she speaks. "Marius is goin' crazy. Julien's challengin' Henri. Your father…he's scarin' me. Mattie and I, we're doin' our best, but it won't hold."_

_There's no accusation in her voice, no command, but the implication is clear: he brought this chaos down on all of them, and he's the only one who can fix it. He's thought of little else since he stuffed a week's worth of clothes in a duffle bag and left the black velvet box containing Belle's engagement present sitting neatly on his bureau, but there's no way clear of the whole damn mess – at best, he can buy himself some time._

"_She's still got the ring, right?"_

"_Of course. This is Belladonna Boudreaux we're talking about. Girl's like a magpie," Mercy says with a haughty sniff._

"_That's 'nough, then."_

"_Have you lost your mind? That isn't anywhere near enough. You have humiliated that girl in front of her Guild, and yours, and everyone she's ever known. You've spit on the prophecy, abandoned your family, and left them to fight your goddamn battle."_

_He keeps his voice breezy, casual. "I missed a party,_ mon ange_. Hardly cause to start a war."_

"_You've done a damn sight more than miss a party, boy. And don't you try to sweet-talk me."_

_The hours of back-road driving have caught up to him, and he yawns, begins looking for a motel that takes cash. "You ain't payin' attention, Mercy. Belle still has the ring."_

"_So?"_

_He approaches the highway, leery of being so close to a main road, desperate enough to take the chance. "Long as she still has the ring, I'm holdin' up my end of the bargain. Ain't nobody who can say different."_

"_And if she throws it in the bayou?"_

"_Then breakin' the engagement's on her head, not mine." He waits and lets it sink in. The true engagement began when he put the ring on her finger in front of their fathers. The party he's fled is a lavish, ostentatious formality, nothing more. "Marius ain't got grounds to come after us."_

"_Marius ain't the only one tryin' to bring you back. Your father's furious. He wants you home."_

"_Tell him I can't. Got a contract." An open-ended contract to boot, so that neither Marius nor Jean-Luc can force him to return. Mercenary work for Lensherr isn't his normal gig, but he no longer cares._

"_He won't allow it," Mercy says flatly. "He'll cut you off." She is absolutely right -- to put your name to a contract without the Guild's approval is grounds for exile. Remy says nothing, and she sighs. "An' that's exactly what you want."_

_He lights another cigarette._

"_It won't work," she tells him. "You gotta come home, Remy. No way around it."_

"_I can't. I just…" he spots a motel sign a short distance away, heads towards it. "Just can't."_

"_Can't what?"_

"_Marry her. Stay there." Save them._

"_Fine. You want to run, go ahead. Pay whatever penance you think you need to, do your grievin', find a girl who ain't Belle. But eventually, you have to stop runnin', Remy, and grow up, and that's when you come back. Because this is who you are. This is your family, and we need you here. Where you're meant to be. Fate's a funny thing, Rem. Has a way of catchin' up to a body."_

"_Ain't no such thing as fate," he says automatically, and pulls into the parking lot of the dingy clapboard hotel. The vacancy sign flickers, and the empty lot suggests he'll have his choice of rooms, each more decrepit than the next. It isn't his usual taste, and he hopes that fact will keep him hidden from Jean-Luc and Marius until he can get a few more states between them. _

_Mercy chuckles. "You tell yourself that enough times, maybe it'll be true." _

"_Can you handle things? You and Henri and Mattie, you can hold things together?" He recognizes the burden he's placing on them._

"_For a time." Her voice is starting to crack, tears building behind the words._

_He stares at the door to the motel office, squares his shoulders, swallows hard. "I owe you, Mercy."_

"_You saved Henri's life, Rem. I'm just returnin' the favor."_

* * *

Even before the memory was fully integrated, Rogue began to sob, curling into the armchair as if she could somehow contain all the grief and betrayal that was raging inside her. 

Carol tapped her on the shoulder, and stood waiting, with arms crossed, until Rogue looked up at her. She leveled a finger at the heavy oak door. "Time to go," she said.

* * *

Next up: Escape, and rescue, and the cost of both. 


End file.
